


Behind the Moon's Eye

by Jéssica da Maia (spaceparanoids)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, American History, American Indian, American Revolution, Americana, Americans, Better Than Canon, Better erotica than Fifty Shades of Grey, Better love story than Abstergo's, Better love story than Twilight, Bodice-Ripper, Colonialism, Drama & Romance, Erotica, Español | Spanish, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harlequin, Hispanic Character, Hostage Situations, Latino Character, Native American Character(s), Paranormal, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Rebellion, Rebels, Revolution, Revolutionary War, Romance, Self Remix, Skin-walker, Spicy Latina, Supernatural Elements, This American Life, Tyranny of King Washington, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceparanoids/pseuds/J%C3%A9ssica%20da%20Maia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the era of the tyrannical King Washington, a peasant woman has come to seek refuge at a thriving community not too far from the cities. She met a mysterious Mohawk warrior along the way, whom assumes to have known her before. Desperate, he attempts to have her recall all the precious memories she shared with him, memories that speak of a bygone life at the homestead. Tension arises between two, both emotionally and sexually. Nevertheless, the more she has come to know this man, the more she falls in love with him. However, behind his calm and sweet exterior lies a beast within, waiting to be awoken by her…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Paranormal!AU set during the Tyranny of King Washington (yes, an AU within an AU). This monster of a fan fic was born out of my disappointment on Connor’s character development in TOKW and lack of a love interest for him, along with my drive to create a better love story than Twilight (and better-written sex scenes than its devil child, 50 Shades of Grey). Because I am highly disappointed that Jacob Black seems to be the only sexy Native American wolf boy out there, we definitely need more than just him. So this skin-walker/werewolf!Connor creation of mine will be my gift to the AC fandom. I hope you all enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are looking for the fan fiction, "Alpha Wolf", I renamed it to "Behind the Moon's Eye." So yeah, it's still the same story although I changed a lot of things. Mainly, this originally was a Connor/reader fic but was changed to a Connor/OC one based on the feedback I got from my readers.
> 
> If you like what I have revamped, please let me know by critiquing my work or leaving a kudos. I highly appreciate all the reviews I get as I always strive to make myself a better writer. Thank you for reading this and for supporting my work!

_Spring, 1784: Appalachian frontier_

Rays of sunlight seeped through the maiden’s half-curtained window, arousing her from her slumber. Eyes fluttering, she stretched and yawned, easing away the last bits of repose.

“Good morning, Iliana,” a voice called out.

The maiden turned her head to the source of the sound, realizing it to be a familiar face which greeted her by the doorway. She went by the name of ‘Corrine’—a nice elderly lady whom was the owner and acaretaker of ‘Mile’s End’, the bed-and-breakfast place that Iliana now worked and resided in. Corrine smiled sweetly at her, stepping through the threshold and making her way across the room until she reached the windows. She pulled open the curtains nearest to Iliana’s bed and commented, “Nice weather today.” Peering through the glass panes and gazing at the majestic Appalachian mountain range, she added, “Quite better than the dreadful snow storm we had a few weeks ago!”

Iliana returned Corrine’s cheerful mien as she rose from her bed and headed to her dresser. “Well, it is the first week of spring after all,” she remarked, taking out a blouse and matching skirt from her dresser.

“Indeed, which is why I think that it’s time we do a little spring cleaning around this place,” Corrine proposed, moving over to the other window and opening the curtains that hung from it. “We shall get it done before we open for business.”

“As you wish, Corrine,” Iliana acknowledged, gathering the garments in her hand and walking to the opposite end of her room where an ornate privacy screen occupied the space. She went behind it and began changing into her work clothes.

“I can have you get started by sweeping the floors. However—” Frowning, Corinne spun around and stared at where the young woman’s body should have been had it not been obstructed by the modesty panels. She twisted her fingers, unsure of how to tell Iliana the whole truth to her statement. “We…have received an unexpected customer before we even opened shop.”

Iliana stopped short of putting her blouse on, eyebrows raised. “Oh? Who is it? Did this visitor cause you and Ollie any trouble?” she asked, intrigued yet worried at the same time.

“No, no. He didn’t. But…he seemed to be in great distress when he came barging through the entrance—he was severely injured when we found him,” Corrine testified, halting the twisting of her fingers and sighing out loud.

“Oh dear, how awful!” Iliana exclaimed. Placing the blouse over her head and smoothing its creases, she continued, “I hope he is alright.”

“He is—in fact, Ollie and I tended to his wounds the moment we saw him burst through the doors and collapse onto the floor.” Shaking her head, Corrine made a ‘tsk tsk’ sound and said, “Poor thing must have been through a rough time, trying to escape those dastardly Bluecoats!”

Iliana threw her nightgown onto a pile of dirty clothes. As she finished changing into the last pieces of her work attire, she stepped aside from the privacy panels and joined the old maid at the window. “So he is still here? Will he be staying with us, then?” she inquired.

“From the state of his health, it appears to be that he will,” Corrine responded solemnly. “God bless that poor soul—he was howling all night as well—must have had a bad dream.”

Knitting her brows, Iliana asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well, he is downstairs right now, waiting for breakfast to be served. So you can get the day started by making him some,” Corrine suggested.

“Alright then. Will do, ma’am!” Iliana replied, smiling and curtseying before exiting the room.

Corrine followed after the young lady as she made her way across the corridors and down the stairs. When Iliana reached the ground floor, she scanned the area to see where the aforementioned guest was located. “He is not here, Corrine,” she stated, slightly confused.

“Oh—well that’s because he’s waiting for you at the tavern! So come, my dear—” the elderly woman grabbed Iliana’s hand and lead her through an entrance that connected the inn to the tavern.

Once they had entered the pub, Corrine pointed to the man she had been telling Iliana about. Following the direction of her aimed finger, Iliana gasped at what beheld your eyes.

Sitting at one of the empty tables was a scruffy-looking fellow dressed in some of the most bizarre fashion she’d ever seen. He appeared to be quite savage, what with the wolf hide perched atop his head and spilling over his shoulders. His torso was bare, indecent for a gentleman yet the war paint and other ornaments that embellished it were enough to keep him modest. In fact, it was enough to make Iliana blush, to the point where she was uncertain of how to feel about this new guest. She placed a hand to the side of her mouth, glancing at Corinne and whispering, “He’s not a _brujo_ **[1]** now, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Corrine mumbled, wide-eyed. “I mean, he has been nothing _but_ kind to us.”

Iliana sighed, feeling nervous but nodded in acknowledgement. Walking in apprehension to where the guest took his seat, she sat across from him and reluctantly brought her gaze to meet his.

“Shé:kon”, he greeted, smiling at her.

“W-what does that mean?” Iliana asked stupidly, hands trembling; she placed them under her thighs and squished them as much as she could so as to calm her nerves. Although Corinne told her that this man would do no harm, she still didn’t trust him completely.

“It means ‘hello’ in my language,” he answered, curious chocolate eyes studying the lady’s features. He observed how her long, raven locks spilled over her shoulders and complemented her olive skin. It framed her blushing face in a manner that made her amber eyes stand out, and he almost held his breath at what beheld him. He had this feeling that he had seen such beauty before, and the way she was looking at him made his heart flutter.

“Oh—w-well, good day to you too, sir,” Iliana said demurely, eyelids batting and lips twitching into a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” he articulated, the pronunciation of it making Iliana’s head spin a little. He gave her an all-knowing look, as if he knew what she was about to say next, and it made her suspicious for a bit. Regardless, he shrugged and asked, “What about you? What is your name?”

“Iliana”, she stated, and then attempted to recite his. She tripped on the vowels, her tongue getting twisted and making her embarrassed.

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head. “You will learn in time,” he said, smiling a little.

Iliana couldn’t help but return his amiable expression. _Well, he seems nice enough. Perhaps Corrine was right. He seems to not want to cause any trouble…_ she thought. She then prompted, “So, what would you like to have for breakfast? I can cook up anything you desire—eggs, meat pies, rabbit stew…”

“I will have whatever you prefer,” he replied, shrugging. “I am not too picky when it to comes to food.”

“Alright then, well I guess we can start with the full English breakfast,” Iliana noted, beaming. Rising from her seat, she turned around and noticed that the old woman was no longer present. She shrugged it off, assuming that Corinne must have left whilst she did her business with the new guest. _I guess it’s just me and him now_ , she mused, feeling awkward about the growing silence in the room. She still had a couple of hours left to tend to this bloke before Mile’s End officially opened for business, so she went about to cooking him breakfast in no time.

The maid returned several minutes later with a tray full of food in one hand and drinks in the other. Carefully placing them onto the table, she handed Ratonhnhaké:ton his meal whereas she took hers and settled down opposite of him once again. Just as she was about to pick up her utensils and eat, she saw the man stare at his food, slightly dumbfounded.

“Ever had a full breakfast before?” she probed, face quizzical.

“Only a few times,” Ratonhnhaké:ton answered, picking up his utensils and playing with his food a little. “This place…the people, the food, the surroundings, everything…it just all seems too familiar.”

“Oh really?” Iliana questioned, her interest peaking. “You have passed by here before?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton was unsure of how to answer, as he did not know himself about the certainty of his statement. “I have, yet at the same time, I have not—this place and all the other houses nearby, they do not appear the way I remember them to.”

“Hmm, you must be suffering from amnesia,” Iliana remarked, frowning. _Corrine was right; he is such a poor thing…_

“Perhaps,” he murmured, features devoid of emotion. Inhaling the scent of the food and digging in for once, he changed the subject and commented, “This smells and tastes really good.”

Beaming, Iliana replied, “Why thank you—I’m glad you like my cooking.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton returned her flattered look for a moment before piercing another sausage piece with his fork and taking it to his mouth. He took time to savor the flavor, the smoky taste reminding him of a bygone life in a secluded homestead. Gulping the last of his meat chunks, he uttered, “My father—he is English.”

“Really now? So I take it that you’ve had a taste of English breakfast before thanks to him?” Iliana asked as she quirked an eyebrow. Chuckling, she continued, “Was he a good chef? Or did your mother have to do all the cooking?”

Putting his fork down, Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at an interesting spot on the floor, expression downcast. “I…never really knew him. Or at least I thought I did,” he mumbled, voice barely audible that Iliana had to strain her ears to hear him. “There were many things I assumed about him that turned out to be wrong, and—” he sighed, having a seemingly difficult time carrying on with his words.

“Oh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“That is alright, you did not know.”

Iliana frowned; she didn't expect her meeting with this chap to turn in a bad direction. She had no clue what to say in order to change the subject to a lighter one. So instead, she simply sat there in awkward silence and continued eating her food, trying her best to avoid eye contact by keeping her eyes on her plate.

“I still have so many questions to ask him, but most of all…goodbye,” he murmured, still not shifting his attention to the lady. “I know he cannot hear me anymore. He is gone now but…there have been times when I was alone, when I wished that he could hear me, when I wished I could tell him the words I should have said.”

An audible _clink_ noise can be heard as Iliana dropped her utensils onto the table, mouth agape. She was shocked with everything she was hearing—this man, a _stranger_ nonetheless—was disclosing to her some of the most personal information he had to offer! And she only just met him! “I…do not know what to say,” she nearly whispered, visage changing into tenderness. “I am really sorry to hear all of this…but…I thank you for sharing this part of you to me.”

“You have heard my story before,” Ratonhnhaké:ton noted matter-of-factly, finally turning to look— _gaze_ at Iliana with piercing eyes.

“W-what??” she blurted, befuddled at his statement and feeling uneasy at the same time thanks to his glare.

“I knew who you were before you even told me who you were,” he stated, eyes narrowing. “When you told me your name, I knew that I have at last found someone I can confide myself to—I just had to make sure at first it was really you.”

Iliana gave him a questioning stare. “Are…are you sure we have not met before?”

“It is not I who has amnesia, but _you_ ,” he proclaimed.

“Y-you’re mad! I’ve never had a head injury before or any other trauma to cause memory loss! You do!” she spat childishly.

Shaking his head, Ratonhnhaké:ton spoke, “No, I can assure you that we have known each other before. I can prove it and will explain it all to you when the time is right.”

 _The nerve of this man!_ Iliana thought; she just met him and already he was making her frustrated and confused. Huffing, she grumpily went back to chewing her food, deliberately ignoring him.

“I know you may be angry with me right now about this, but I wanted to see if you remember.”

“Well, I don’t and that’s the worst way to remind someone of something they don’t ever recall knowing about.”

Releasing a strained breath, Ratonhnhaké:ton affirmed, “I keep my promises, and you will come to know everything someday.”

Side-glancing, Iliana fully turned her attention to him. She squinted and sarcastically voiced, “Fine then, I shall take your word for it—suppose I really did know beforehand about the situation between you and your father—what’s the purpose of you telling me all of this? Is it important? Some sort of ‘foreshadowing’ information that I should keep for later?

“You could say that,” the bloke responded, smirking.

Huffing, Iliana ignored him once more as she absentmindedly bit on her sausage, preoccupied with mentally sorting out what just happened.

Ratonhnhaké:ton saw how Iliana was unwittingly licking and chewing her food in a sensual manner, and it instantly made him feel as though he was on fire. Without warning, repressed memories from a past life came flooding into his mind—lewd vignettes of his time with the maiden flashed in front of his eyes, clouding his rationality. They were crystal clear and even rang loud in his ears, as if he were currently living out these memories. He could hear his moaning mixing in with hers, could even feel the sensation of her tongue gliding up and down his shaft—

“Hey, are you alright?”

The Mohawk man blinked several times, breaking out of his trance. “H-huh?” he breathed, clutching his chest.

“You—you looked like you were about to have a heart attack,” Iliana stated, worry tainting her speech.

Shaking his head, Ratonhnhaké:ton hastily answered , “No, I am fine.” He stared at the woman, noticing that she already finished everything off her plate while he was stuck in his trance. He gazed down at his own plate, embarrassed that it was barely touched. Suddenly, he did not feel so hungry anymore. “Sorry, as much as I appreciate you cooking for me, I seemed to have lost my appetite.”

Iliana gave him a look of disapproval, unhappy with how he had been acting so far. “Don’t waste food! You should have told me so that you weren’t all that hungry so I could make smaller portions. I mean, do you know how expensive it is these days to get something decent around here!? We have to ration our portions, especially now that wretched ‘King’ Washington took over this land!”

“I can take my platter and feed the left-overs to the animals so that it does not get wasted,” the Mohawk man suggested, standing up in a hurry and taking his remainders with him. “I—I should go,” he muttered, giving Iliana a quick nod, eyes meeting hers only for a split second before he dashed to the exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Iliana voiced in a commanding tone as she headed over to Ratonhnhaké:ton’s location and placed her hands on her hips.

“Uh,” the bloke uttered, reluctantly spinning around to face her. “Going to feed my left-overs to the animals first. Then after that, just have some time to myself to…think about some things.”

Iliana glared at Ratonhnhaké:ton, refusing to speak. The silence between them grew stronger as seconds passed by, making the chap feel uneasy. Finally, Iliana broke it by saying, “When you have the time, you should meet with me at the meadows.”

“What for?” he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I want to get to know you more—but on a more personal level this time. No awkwardness between us, alright? Besides, if you come, I will be preparing a picnic for you,” she offered, simpering.

Ratonhnhaké:ton shrugged; he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to join her once more—especially if the tension diminished by then. Thus, he responded, “Alright, I shall meet with you for your luncheon—thank you for the food, by the way.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Iliana said, the smile on her face widening as she placed a hand over her heart.

Ratonhnhaké:ton simply nodded. Twirling around, he opened the door, exiting the area without a second glance at Iliana.

She stood there by the doorway, observing the man’s figure retreat as he scurried a block over to where some farm animals were located. He fed his remains to the pigs, becoming irritated when one of them unexpectedly escaped the pen. He didn’t notice that it was unlocked and had to chase the escaping swine. He herded it back in with frustration, shouting some expletives in his native language and growling, “Get back in there!”  Ultimately, he was able to herd the stray pig back to its pen.

Iliana couldn’t help but giggle at his actions— _such an odd man_ , she mused, eyeing him. _Yet so amusing…_

Ratonhnhaké:ton locked the pen, making sure that no swine was to escape again. He exhaled a breath of relief then whirled around, only to be met by the lady’s intrigued countenance. “What!?” he sneered, visage turning even more infuriated by the minute.

“Nothing,” she bellowed innocently, although she knew that he caught her regardless and was huffing about it. Shrugging, she declared, “Anyway, I must tend to my duties now—see you later!” She waved pleasantly and flashed him another one of her sweet smiles before shutting the door tight. She snickered behind his back, not even sorry about it.

As the last of her laughter died down, she sighed then began to mull over today’s happenings: what began as an apprehensive meeting transformed into one of enjoyment, although it left her with some nagging questions as well. Ratonhnhaké:ton may be an alright fellow, but there were so many things about him that she was doubtful of. For example, how did he know who she was before she even met him? Perhaps he wasn't lying at all about being familiar with her identity. She wanted to know where this stranger came from and why he was here. Furthermore, she wanted to know how he found the refugee village she now resided in, and how long he would be staying at her workplace. She just had so many questions to answer, so many mysteries to uncover—she’d make sure of it that she would cross-examine the man for each and every one of them.

Smirking, Iliana walked away from the door, making her way across the opposite end of the tavern and entering the inn once more. The smirk on her lips contorted to a grin; although she was still a little uncertain about everything, she was looking forward to having her picnic with Ratonhnhaké:ton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 ‘Witch’ (masculine) or ‘warlock’ in Spanish [⇧ Return to paragraph]


	2. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** There is sex in this chapter, particularly solo sex…so yeah. Expect that.
> 
>  **Notes:** based on [dirty head-canon #15 and dirty head-canon #17](http://assassinscreed-sexcanons.tumblr.com/connor).

The Mohawk warrior came storming up the stairs of the inn, still enraged from the most recent event. He hated how he had to herd the wretched pig back into its pen with such nerve, hated how his new acquaintance laughed at him with much glee over it, and hated more how she didn’t even remember who he was.

In fact, ‘acquaintance’ was putting it lightly; the memories that flashed across Ratonhnhaké:ton’s eyes not too long ago said otherwise.

He grumbled as he reached his room. Opening the door, he shut it as quickly as possible, making a large slamming sound in the process and then resting his back onto it. He heaved a sigh and slouched; he was frustrated and worn over so many things that he really just needed some time to himself.

He rubbed his eyes, feeling lethargic. He needed to relax, so he just leaned there, trying to calm down by controlling his breathing. Sighing, he contemplated over everything that had happened so far.

When he first arrived at the refugee village, he felt an all too familiar feeling of having been here before—several times, in fact. However, he did not have time to reflect upon it as he came through the frontier drenched in blood. Luckily, the Bluecoats did not follow him to this secluded place, although it took every ounce of his remaining strength to drag himself towards Mile’s End. When he burst through the entrance, he collapsed on the floor, his wounds becoming too painful to bear.

He was thankful enough to have the hostel owners, Oliver and Corrine, take care of him. He spent his first night wrapped in bandages and howling in pain. The dreams that accompanied him didn’t help, either. He began to dream that he was truly back at the homestead, spending his time with his lover at the Mile’s End tavern. It was a night of merriment, for everyone was there celebrating Myriam and Norris’s first wedding anniversary. He dreamt of Iliana sitting on his lap, drunk from the whiskey. She kissed him sloppily, not having a care in the world if others stared at her public displays of affection.

Embarrassed at Iliana’s outlandish behavior, Ratonhnhaké:ton stepped out of the party early and carried her home to the manor. She giggled at him holding her bridal style, clinging onto him lazily as he put her down.

 _“Let’s stay up all night, shall we?”_ Iliana suggested in a seductive tone as she batted her eyelashes at him. _“Just have some…‘private time’, you and me.”_

Ratonhnhaké:ton raised his eyebrows at her, mouth agape. Smirking, he affirmed, _“As you wish, love.”_

Several lecherous things happened afterwards, causing the assassin to wake up feeling disgruntled, as he discovered that he had yet another nocturnal emission. What made him even more upset was the fact that he had been having so many dreams about Iliana lately, each one becoming more intense and crystal clear than the previous. Thus, the moment he saw her enter the tavern the morning after, the moment he recognized that she was definitely the woman in his dreams, the long lost love he longed for.

What frustrated him the most, however, was how such particular reminiscences had made him sexually aroused now, and he had to find a way to get rid of the tension. Snarling, he locked the door behind him, making sure that no one would intrude on his business. He wasted no time undoing his bottoms, letting them slip to the floor as his cock sprung free from their hold. Sighing, he clutched his shaft and went about to stroking himself. He released a satisfied groan, head rolling back and eyes closing as he let himself indulge in his carnalities once more.

When he was eating breakfast with Iliana, repressed memories came surfacing into his mind. He didn’t have time to ruminate upon them until now, and he was more than pleased to pick out which one he wanted to indulge in for today. He remembered seeing one where they were on the Aquila, engaging in some tomfoolery in his quarters. Eventually, one thing led to another, and he smirked as he thoroughly thought back to that precious moment.

He moaned whenever his lover’s mouth would tease the thin band of flesh underneath his bell-end. He really loved having that spot stimulated, so he glided his palm over it and pretended it was Iliana’s skilled tongue that was playing with the delicate fold. He shuddered, another moan escaping his lips as he pinched and rolled the skin between his fingers.

In his recollections, Iliana was eyeing him seductively as she took him further in, the hot cavern of her mouth making him elicit sinful noises. He _loved_ how she looked at him like that, so he held her gaze, matching hers in authority.

Ratonhnhaké:ton reimagined this scene as if she was right there, right now in front of him and grunted, “Yes—take it.”

The simulacrum of Iliana complied, taking him deeply one at a time—he was quite the large one, but she managed to swallow all of him with no problem. The number of times she had deep-throated him before made her get used to his size, and she knew all too well on what made him tick. She suctioned him, slowly sliding back as she left moist traces on his underside.

Ratonhnhaké:ton shivered again, his hands following the woman’s simulated sucking of his cock. Pre-cum leaked from his tip; he swabbed it and dragged it along his length, fantasizing that it was her mouth sliding onto him once again. He couldn’t hold back a moan as he pictured her taking him all the way down, sucking hard as she slipped back out. She went faster this time, the repeated motions making him gasp for air.

Intoxicated and entranced, Ratonhnhaké:ton cupped his balls with one hand as other continued to work his stem. He imagined that Iliana were lapping his sac this time while her hand lingered on his shaft, pumping him as she gently suckled his nuts. He made a guttural, animalistic sound as his pleasure increased, cheeks staining red from the heighted arousal.

He stroked himself a little while longer before switching his routine to something a bit more electrifying: playing with his frenulum, his favorite way of getting off. Circling that thin stretch of skin with his index finger while his thumb messaged his head, he sensed his legs wobble as he nearly fainted from the intense feeling. It felt even better as he continued to massage his nuts. The pinching, the pulling, the playful twisting of his sensitive fold—it made him not only weak in the knees, but in will as well. The subtle fight for dominance that his woman still had going on with him in his fantasies—the prolonged eye contact, how she pleasured him and how he commanded her—was becoming all too much for him, and he surrendered with a whimper.

He envisioned her smirking and eyeing him with smugness, and it almost made him furious until she pressed her tongue against his fold, triggering him to yelp and submit to her will once more. His knob-end was so swollen and red that he had to hold himself back a little since he was dangerously close to going over the edge. He was panting heavily now, sweat rolling down the sides of his face as he readied himself to be whisked away into oblivion.

Having the urge to stroke like mad, he resisted it and kept on going. He sensed himself reach the point of no return and visualized that it was Iliana teasing all the sensitive bits on his tip. One last tug on his frenulum was all that was needed to make him come, thus initiating his frenzied pumping of his shaft. He moved his hand away from it and instead held onto his balls in a way that intensified his release. Grimacing, he growled ferociously, the contractions in his pelvic muscles building onto each other and bringing him to an out-of-this-world orgasm. He almost couldn’t take in the force of his coming as his massive load shot across the room. Emitting one last howl, he shivered as he rode the tidal wave, his knees giving out beneath him.

All fantasies of his lover dissolved from his mind as he fell to the floor, completely spent from his arousal. He rested there, not wanting to do anything else as he indulged in his euphoria. His breathing became more relaxed now and he closed his eyes, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. As he rolled his head to the side, his jaw dropped, causing his tongue to flop out as if he were a dog trying to cool off. He could feel his perspiration roll down his temples, but he didn’t care to wipe them off. All that mattered in this moment was his gratification and relaxation.

He lost track of how many times he had pleasured himself to the thought of Iliana; he'd been doing this ever since the first shards of memories reemerged from his unconscious. Even when he slept without arousing himself, flashes of lewd memories kept him up at night, to the point where he was able to recollect all the missing pieces and put them back together. This pleased him, as he was able to extend the scenes in his mind, the stage play to his life…

Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed; he was overjoyed when he first found Mile’s End, and even more so when he found his long lost love. However, he was devastated to know that she didn’t acknowledge him the way he thought she would.

He thought back to those lonely nights in prison, where he would commit the same lewd acts over and over again. Frowning, he realized just now how alone he had been and how lovesick he had become. He snarled; he _had_ to get her to remember every single memory she shared with him, for he was tired of relishing them alone.

“Hello?” a muffled voice cried out.

Blinking, Ratonhnhaké:ton turned his head towards the source; he could hear Iliana calling him behind the door. As she knocked on it, he grumbled, getting up from the floor and pulling his pantaloons back up. “What!?” he sneered as her knocking became louder; he didn’t like how his private time was being cut short. Fixing himself, he made sure that everything was secured before storming over to the door and slamming it wide open.

Iliana gaped at the man’s irritated expression, surprised to see how mad he was. “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude,” she apologized, glancing at the floor. Looking back up at him, she held out a basket from her hand and said, “A-anyway, I just wanted to know if you would like to join me for our midday picnic.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton simply glared at her. “I thought you told me that I can do that whenever I have time.”

Chuckling, Iliana responded, “Well, I couldn’t stand to wait any longer—besides, it’s nearly lunchtime and I prepared you something special to soothe your frustrations.”

Exhaling a stressed breath, Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, “Fine, I shall join you then.”

The maid beamed at his agreement until something behind him caught her eye. Noticing some stains on the floor that were not there before, she remarked, “…Did you bring food in here?”

“Huh?” Ratonhnhaké:ton uttered, confused.

Pointing to the stains, she mentioned, “I see something on the floorboards that looks like spilled milk.”

The Mohawk man’s ears immediately felt hot. “Uhh…” he mumbled, turning his head towards the source in reluctance. “Y-yes,” he lied. _Damn it._

“You are not allowed to bring food in the guest rooms,” Iliana drawled, eyeing him with suspicion.

Ratonhnhaké:ton gulped and rubbed the back of his neck; he wasn’t sure if she believed his story. “M-my apologies…I-I will go clean that up.”

As he went about to cleaning the floor, Iliana still glared at him with suspicion, raising her brow as she studied the stain. There is something about the way it dried that just did not look _right_ if it was indeed spilled milk. “What you have you been doing?” she interrogated, setting her basket down and crossing her arms.

“Uhhh…” the bloke mumbled again; he didn’t even want to turn around to look at Iliana, for sweat was dripping down his forehead, a tell-tale sign of his anxiety. His heart rate wouldn’t calm down, and he couldn’t stand it any longer. Snarling, he stood up from his spot, stormed over to where she was and spat, “None of your business!”

Iliana stared at him for a long time, still in doubt of his words and actions. Then, putting a hand on his shoulder, she simpered and spoke, “Alright then, I shall take your word for it.”

Something electrifying surged through Ratonhnhaké:ton’s system the moment he sensed the maiden’s palm on his shoulder. Normally, he would flinch whenever someone would touch him; however, he _knew_ her and didn’t mind her invading his personal space. He almost cracked under the feeling of her soft fingers resting on his hot skin, and it was enough to have a whimper escape from his lips.

“Are…are you alright?” Iliana asked, confused and worried.

The Mohawk placed his own hand over Iliana’s and grazed it, his fingers curling into hers. He so badly wanted to kiss them, to suckle on them, to have them caress his face, his chest, his most intimate parts…

He saw that she was looking at him in an uncomfortable manner. Shaking his head, he answered, “No, I am fine. It is just…” he let go of her hand, at a loss on what to say next. “I—I have not—have not felt…”

Iliana had a feeling that she knew what he was trying to tell her, so she mentioned, “You have not felt the touch of a woman in quite a while. Is that correct?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton gaped then stuttered, “I-I—well—”

“No, it’s fine—you don’t need to explain everything in detail. That’s just too much information,” she said, shaking her head and sighing. _I think I know what happened behind closed doors…_

“Oh, I see—w-well then, s-shall we proceed with our luncheon then?” Ratonhnhaké:ton asked awkwardly, flashing a sheepish grin and twisting his hands in trepidation.

Iliana couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. _How adorable_ , she thought, smiling. “Sure, we can go now.” Picking her basket up from the floor, she signaled him to follow her as she made her away across the hall and down the stairs.

As Ratonhnhaké:ton trailed after the lady, he released a strained breath and slouched. He felt relieved that she did not pester him any further about his…activities. However, he was anxious just to what extent she knew about them. _Does she know that it was her I was thinking about?_ He wondered.

He stared at Iliana’s walking form, studying the way her curves swayed when she took a step. As a predatory reaction rose up in the Mohawk warrior, he shook his head, attempting to suppress it. He almost whined—the moment she touched him, he immediately had the urge to pin her against the wall and kiss her ravenously. It took all of his might to decide against that, and it may take him even more the longer he spent time with her. _So close, and yet so far…_ he mused, frowning.

As they reached the entrance, Ratonhnhaké:ton opened the door for Iliana, and she beamed at his genteel action. “Thank you,” she said sweetly.

The Mohawk returned her smile, closing the door as she exited the inn. He caught up with her, walking side-by-side as they both made their way towards the open fields.

The rest of the walk was silent with the occasional glances thrown at each other. The maiden smiled at him every time she did, especially when he repaid her with his own timid one. He certainly was quite the oddball, but charming nevertheless. The more Iliana neared her destination, the more she was looking forward to getting to know more about this man.


	3. Twenty-One Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by Florence + the Machine’s “[Howl](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_uYs7YOZKc)” and Disney’s _Once Upon a Time_ television show.
> 
> That’s all for now! I sincerely hope you all enjoy my OC as I put _a lot_ of thought into her development.

Iliana found a perfect spot where she could have her picnic, where there was enough shade provided by the giant sycamore tree to shield her and her guest from the heat of the midday sun. Regardless, the weather today was simply exquisite—clear skies and cool winds made it feel pleasant to be lounging in the pastures. She sighed, relishing in the spring temperature; she always loved this season of the year—not too hot, not too cold. It was simply perfect enough for her and Ratonhnhaké:ton to have a nice picnic together.

As she was too busy reveling in all that spring had to offer, she didn’t notice that the gentleman had already set up her checkered blanket.

“Oh—” she blurted, blinking in flattery. Smiling, she said, “Gracias.”

“I do not know how exactly you want to set up the food and utensils, so I shall leave that up to you,” he mentioned as he made himself comfortable on the blanket by sitting cross-legged.

“That won’t be a problem—” Iliana started taking out all the things that were in her large basket, retrieving them one by one and placing them neatly on the blanket. She took out a variety of items: bread, butter, deer jerky, tea packets, a small jug of water, stuffing, sandwiches, cookies, potato salad, strawberries, tea cups, plates, forks, spoons, butter knives…

The Mohawk stared at all the pieces Iliana set down. “Did you make all of this?” he inquired.

“No, not all of them. I had Corrine help me out,” she answered, grinning.

Ratonhnhaké:ton sniffed at the foods then commented, “Well they sure smell good—this is quite a lot you brought.”

Chuckling, Iliana said, “Can’t have a picnic without a smörgåsbord, right?”

She gave him a plate and utensils to eat with, encouraging him to be her guest. As he helped himself to some bread and stuffing, Iliana prepared her own plate with some servings and prompted, “Alright, so first question—where do you come from?”

“Kanatahséton,” the Mohawk warrior answered with a mouth full of food. Gulping, he remarked, “A village not too far from here.”

“I take it that your people live there?” Iliana questioned, grabbing some tea cups and preparing their drinks.

“Yes, it was where I was born and raised.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I know where you came from.”

The lady raised an eyebrow, suspicion rising in her once again. “Oh really? Pray tell.”

“You came from the southern colonies, where you were born in a beautiful mansion located in a bustling Puerto Rican port town. You lived a noble life, enjoying the status that your heritage gave you.”

Iliana squinted at him, halting her actions for a moment. “What are you trying to say?” she sneered.

“Tell me what your full name is.”

She was hesitant to tell him, but resumed fixing their tea and responded, “Iliana de Silva y Mendoza…why?”

“Your surname indicates that you descended from a long line of Spanish aristocrats—the ‘House of Silva’ and the ‘House of Mendoza’,” Ratonhnhaké:ton specified straightforwardly.

Illiana stared at him, unimpressed and unconvinced. “Gilipolleces **[1]**,” she spat.

Remembering what that word meant, Ratonhnhaké:ton gaped her then shook his head. Sighing, he disregarded her displeasure and continued, “You traveled often between Puerto Rico and Louisiana, as you had wealthy relatives who owned a plantation in New Orleans. In fact, your father was a military officer, whose connections to the Spanish army made him quite influential in the Revolutionary War.”

“…You knew my father?” Iliana blurted, expression dumbfounded. She wasn’t sure what to believe now; having grown up as a slave shipped to the northern colonies, she never knew who her parents were.

“Indeed, and his name was Emilio. Some of the high-ranking officials whom he closely befriended went on to become governors in Louisiana, where Emilio spent time shaping the development of Spanish culture there. Eventually, you spent a majority of your childhood in New Orleans due to this, especially since your father was constantly deployed to the ongoing war.”

“You seem to know quite a lot…I don’t think I ever recall telling you all of this.”

“Well, during one of my nautical travels to the Caribbean, I was invited to a military ball–that was how we found each other.”

“This all sounds so fancy,” Iliana remarked sardonically; she was quite sure of it now that he was a bluffing mad man, for she did not ever recall having lived such a glamorous life. She could feel tears forming at the corner of her eyes, and she tried her best to fight them back. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a life—spent most of my time working as a peasant girl before I found this place. Let me tell you, I’ve never experienced true freedom until now, thanks to the hospitality and unconditional love that Oliver and Corinne have showered upon me.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton could see the damsel’s eyes getting watery, and he frowned. “Oh, I did not know—”

“You did not know!?” she yelled, nearly slamming the tea cups down and causing a spill. “You assumed to have known me before, but I don’t even remember such things. I don’t remember because they never happened!” Angry, she didn’t even want to look at the man anymore as she curled into a ball, attempting to hide her weeping face.

Ratonhnhaké:ton furrowed his eyebrows, distraught and confused. To him, it was impossible for Iliana to have led such a different life, and even more impossible for both of them to have remembered two completely different pasts. He was insistent that his memory was the clear one and hers the faulty one, so he proclaimed, “But it is true.”

Gazing up at him reluctantly, Iliana sobbed, “How can you be so sure!? Maybe it’s you that has the memory loss and not me! Perhaps you have just mistaken me for a different person—someone who probably just looks a lot like me and shares my name.”

The Mohawk man sighed and shook his head. “How can there be someone who shares not only the exact same appearance, but your entire legal name as well? That is just absurd!”

More irritated now than upset, the woman spat, “Perhaps it’s some bruja **[2]** parading around as me that’s causing you to become befuddled—or maybe she put a spell on you that made your memories messed up.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled his eyes and huffed. “If that is the case, then I would have detected it right away.”

Iliana stopped crying for a bit, staring at the Mohawk warrior with wide eyes. “You—you’ve messed around with magic?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton merely glared at her. “Look,” he spoke, voice low and menacing. “You and I are trapped inside a false reality—a dream world—and it is my duty to get you and the people out of this world. What _you_ remember is not true and has never been. Someone put us under this curse, and destiny has chosen me to break this spell.”

Iliana simply gawked at him, at a loss on what to say. Her mind was reeling with even more questions now as his words began to sink in.

The Mohawk warrior scooted closer to her now, his glowering face dangerously close to her. “Do you know what I am, iakón:kwe **[3]**?”

Iliana could feel his hot breath graze her skin, although she dared not to speak, for she was fearful of what he would do to her if she did.

“I am a _limikkin_ —a ‘skin-walker’ **[4]**, and I know better than to have some novice witch try to overpower me,” Ratonhnhaké:ton growled, his arms clutching Iliana’s and pinning her  to the ground. “Anyone who dares to cross my path will only be met with their demise.”

The damsel laid there helpless against the skin-walker’s iron grip, and she had no choice but to look directly into his fierce eyes. Tears were still streaming down her face as she was deathly afraid now of what this mad man was about to do to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to take any more of his glaring.

“I know things that you do not know because of my power,” Ratonhnhaké:ton rumbled, his nose touching hers. “And I can assure you that the memories it has shown me are not false.”

Without warning, he nuzzled his nose against Iliana’s before gently wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks.

The woman blinked furiously, surprised at his action. She felt his lips press against her forehead before he pulled her up into an embrace.

“Do not cry, Iliana, for I will never hurt you,” Ratonhnhaké:ton murmured before quickly letting go of her.

Iliana felt confused, having felt the touches of the gentleman one moment then feeling the ghost of them the next. She rubbed her forehead and arms, bewildered by the whole experience.

The skin-walker saw that she was lost, and changing his expression to a serious one, he snatched Iliana’s hands and declared, “Never be afraid of me, for I promise that I will always protect you.”

She stared at his palms before glancing up at him and saying, “You sound quite honest—although I am not sure if I still believe in your entire story yet, for it is a hard one to swallow.”

“I understand. It will take time, but the more you spend some of that with me, the more you will be able to recollect things. If it helps, then I can tell you who put all of us under this curse,” Ratonhnhaké:ton stated; he felt tempted to kiss her soft hands but decided against it since he did not want to move too fast. Thus, he released them instead.

“Alright then, who?” she demanded.

He stared out into space, mind lost in thought. Scowling, he sneered, “George Washington.”

Wide-eyed, Iliana questioned, “T-the King? But how?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton shot daggers at her. “Do you not see the cursed object in his hands!? The Apple!?” he spat as he became infuriated again. “That is what gives him power! That is what is keeping all of us under control!”

Iliana was startled at his sudden change of emotion but knew that his anger wasn’t directed towards her. “Wow, you really are serious about this,” she commented, frowning.

“Indeed, and that is why I must take him down,” Ratonhnhaké:ton hissed. He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down before responding, “I lost my mother and entire village because of him.”

“Oh…I am sorry to hear that,” Iliana murmured as she exhibited a look of sympathy.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was silent for a while, avoiding eye contact with the woman. Feeling awkward, Iliana recalled that she had something in store for the chap. Taking a fancy dessert box out of her picnic basket, she held it out to him and announced, “I have a surprise for you.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at the box in Iliana’s hand then at her. “Oh?” he uttered, raising a brow.

Simpering, Iliana took a fork and opened the box, piercing a chunk and then cunningly shoving it into Ratonhnhaké:ton’s mouth. “It’s apple pie,” she stated, snickering as she watched the gent make a funny face from chewing a mouthful. “I made it just for you as way to forget about all your troubles.”

Swallowing, Ratonhnhaké:ton huffed and muttered, “Was that really necessary?”

Iliana giggled, twirling her hair with her fingers and batting her eyelashes at him. “Maybe…” she replied coyly.

The Mohawk warrior pouted and crossed his arms, causing Iliana to giggle again. Plucking a daisy from the ground, she scooted closer to the man and tucked the flower neatly behind his ear. “Silly wolf,” she said, simpering.

Annoyed, Ratonhnhaké:ton merely huffed, making the lady giggle once more.

“Don’t be a big bad wolf,” she suggested coyly, grinning.

“Whatever,” the skin-walker muttered, frowning. “May we just get back to eating now, please?”

Chuckling, Iliana said, “Alright, alright—” she handed him the pie and mentioned, “Here, you can have the rest of your dessert.”

She spent the remaining afternoon eating in silence, occasionally breaking it by asking the bloke more personal questions. She asked him why he ran around in that wolf get-up, asked him how he found Mile’s End and how long he would be staying there, asked him if things would really go back to the way they were if he ever was able to take down the tyranny of King Washington…

He answered them all with not much enthusiasm, apparently getting a bit annoyed at her constant cross-examining. He had his own questions to ask her, mainly those that pertained to her memory. He wanted to know if she recalled any of the precious moments she spent with him, and—much to his dismay—she didn’t.

“Very well then. How about we try something different—Bernardo de Gálvez **[5]**—do you know him?” Ratonhnhaké:ton probed.

Iliana simply shook her head.

“He was a notable target for the Templar Order—” he paused, sighing with annoyance. He really didn’t want to give out another long lecture, this time on who the Templars were and what their true nature was. Groaning, he muttered, “Never mind—it is not important to know right now. Well, I guess this is just another incentive for me to snatch that Apple out of Washington’s grip.”

“You really sound distraught over this,” Iliana spoke, pity clouding her voice. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she murmured, “Those recollections of us, they sound so detailed I—” she could feel a lump forming in her throat and had to pause. She hated how she was on the verge of tears again, so she tried to suppress it by clearing her throat. “Maybe…maybe I believe in you…if only for a little bit. But know this—I completely support what you are doing and will stand by your side.”

Noticing how the lady’s palm was on his shoulder again, Ratonhnhaké:ton took it and held it in his own, caressing it. “Thank you,” he said, kissing her hand once more. “I appreciate that.”

She put her free palm on top of his hold onto her other one, feeling his callous skin. “I’m sure the rest of the village is behind you as well—we all would love to see the mad king fall.”

Smiling, Ratonhnhaké:ton released his grip on her and proclaimed, “Soon, Iliana, soon.”

Nodding, she got up and began to pack up everything.

The Mohawk man rose from his spot and aided her in cleaning up all the picnic items. “I love the dessert you made for me, by the way,” he mentioned as he put away the utensils.

Beaming, Iliana responded, “Why, thank you.”

The rest of the afternoon stroll back to the inn was quiet, although less awkward this time than when Iliana and Ratonhnhaké:ton first walked to the pastures. He offered to carry her basket for her as his other hand held hers. It made Iliana feel like a silly lass again as the butterflies dared to flutter in her stomach. Occasional glances were thrown at each other once more, complete with the sneaking in of shy smiles.

Once they had arrived at their destination, Iliana turned to the gentleman and stated, “Well, I really enjoyed having our little picnic.”

“I did, too,” Ratonhnhaké:ton murmured. Putting the basket down, he fiddled with his hands and timidly asked, “Uhm…so…”

“Sooo…? So what?” Iliana pressed, raising a brow.

“Uhmm…may I, may I—” the gentleman stammered, wiping a sweat off his temple. Sighing, he resorted to just having his arms wide open, as if to signal to her that he was asking for a hug.

Laughing, she affirmed, “Oh you, of course—” and gave him a tight squeeze.

“We should do this again,” Ratonhnhaké:ton suggested, beaming and returning her embrace.

“Indeed,” Iliana said, releasing her hold on him. “Bo'matum.”

“Bo’ma…tum?” Ratonhnhaké:ton uttered, perplexed.

Chuckling, Iliana remarked, “It means ‘thank you’ in my first language—the Taíno **[6]** language. I just wanted to thank you for spending time with me—I highly appreciate it.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton quirked his eyebrow, intrigued. He remembered back in his past life that whenever Iliana would usually speak to him, she would slip in some Spanish words every now and then. However, never once did he ever hear her speak the true tongue of her mother’s heritage. _Interesting…_ he mused, smirking. He then spoke, “Io—‘you are welcome’.”

Beaming, Iliana picked up her basket and was escorted inside the hostel by Ratonhnhaké:ton . When they had reached the second floor, Iliana blew the gentleman a goodbye kiss. He waved her farewell in his oh so bashful manner, and she couldn’t help but grin. Then, they both went their separate ways in contentment.

As Ratonhnhaké:ton entered his room, he shut the door and dashed to the bed, where he flopped onto it like a tired animal. He groaned into the sheets; he had so many thoughts and emotions swimming in his mind that he needed time to sort them all out. He muttered something in his native tongue about how he would have to court Iliana all over again and found it annoying to do so. Rising into a proper sitting position, he sighed. He figured that since he would be staying here for quite a while, he might as well make the most of it.

 _Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad to dawdle for a bit…_ the Mohawk warrior mused, rubbing his chin with his hand. _Washington can wait—besides, I need time to plan out my next move._

Suddenly, he remembered that there was something on his ear, and he took it out. He frowned; it was the daisy that Iliana tucked neatly behind his earlobe. He grumbled at her silliness of doing so, but then an idea hit him. Smelling the flower, he placed it on his bedside table and then resumed to lying on the bed. He turned his side towards the daisy, where he stared at it for a long time. . He smirked; he figured that he should keep it as a reminder on what to get for the lady the next time he had a meeting with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Vulgar way of saying ‘nonsense’ (bullshit) in Spanish, particularly used in Spain [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 2 Translates to ‘witch’ in Spanish [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 3 Translates to ‘woman’ in Kanien'kéha/Mohawk [⇧ Return to paragraph]
> 
> Animus Database Protip:  
> 'Limikkin'—or ' **skin-warlker** '—is the Native American equivalent of the werewolf, except that skinwalkers can shape-shift into any animal they desire as long as they are wearing the pelt of said animal. Used to be doers of good, they have become evil over the centuries and are forbidden to be talked about in many tribes. The wearing of certain animal pelts has become taboo as well due to this reason. As for your question of whether or not our wolf man in _The Tyranny of King Washington_ is one...well I say, he undoubtedly looks like one.
> 
> As for who **Bernardo de Gálvez** is, he is also known as the ‘Governor’ in the multi-player mode; he is a real life historical figure that had a major influence in Spain’s support of the Revolutionary War and in the governing of Louisana. According to ~~Erudito~~ some hacker, Bernardo was suspiciously absent during Aveline's timeline for ‘reasons unknown’…
> 
> Lastly, the **Taíno language** is an an [Arawakan language](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arawak_peoples) of the Taíno people, whom were indigenous to Puerto Rico and some its neighbouring islands before the Spanish conquest.
> 
>  
> 
> _(These professional tips have been brought to you by Shaun Hastings)_


	4. Konwakeri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here I attempt to write what Ubisoft did not (or more liked failed to) explain in game.
> 
> Let’s also pretend that Ratonhnhaké:ton has money in this AU, okay? I know he doesn’t earn money in The Tyranny of King Washington, but let’s just say that he gets his income from doing errands for the village. :P
> 
> And whoever it was that made [this GIF](http://haytham-senpai.tumblr.com/post/42970184510/aviann-te-so-ive-seen-someone-requested)…I love you for inspiring me to write a similar scene about it.

The assassin was perched atop a tree branch from the highest point in the forest. He gazed down at all the houses that littered the refugee settlement, observing the tiny dots of citizens moving around.

 _This should have been the homestead,_ he thought, frowning.

It had been three weeks since he began making his home here. The residents were wary of him at first, especially with the way he dressed himself. Regardless, they eventually became accommodated to his eccentricities and even found them endearing. They also appreciated the great help he had been to the community. He had nowhere to turn to but this haven—he was surprised that Washington and his lackeys had yet to find it. The parish was peaceful and quiet—in fact, a little too quiet at times.

Ratonhnhaké:ton narrowed his eyes; he knew that the peace would not last long. It was only a matter of time before the Bluecoats caught up to him. Luckily, he hadn’t faced any trouble as of lately, but the time he spent dawdling was long enough. He would make it his priority to go back to Boston and find where Kanen'tó:kon went into hiding.

But first, he figured that he should mosey around a little bit more and see what the refugees were up to. Thus, he stayed there, sitting in a relaxed manner on the branch and basking in all that the glorious Appalachian Mountains’ view had to offer.

Not much had changed about the settlement—everything was nearly the same from the way Ratonhnhaké:ton remembered it. The only differences were that the houses were a lot closer to each other this time, so he could easily see all the people congregating in what seemed to be the town centre of the area. The community seemed to have a life of its own, what with its people hustling and bustling.

The Mohawk smiled; it was nice to see such familiarity again, especially in the midst of all the chaos that was happening in the larger towns. He was quite blessed that King Washington had not tainted this place, and he would make it his duty for it to remain that way.

He turned his attention towards a large house on the hill, frowning as he realized just what that house was: it was the Davenport Manor that he and Achilles used to live in, or what should have been the manor. Now, it was nothing but a graveyard full of debris and crumbled bricks. Something happened in this universe that caused the manor to be burnt down, and Ratonhnhaké:ton wished he knew what it was.

Curious, the skinwalker shape-shifted to his eagle form and swiftly flew from tree-to-tree until he reached his destination. He landed onto a ledge of the manor and hopped off, investigating his environment. There was not much left of the house, for the second floor was completely destroyed and laid in rubble. Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed, strolling around the area as he reminisced all that he had done there. He stopped at a spot—what should have been Achilles’s bedroom—and noticed a small memorial site there. Upon inspecting it, his face twisted into a saddened expression.

“I still miss you, as I miss my mother,” he murmured, voice nearly a whisper. He knelt down and brushed the dried white and blood-red roses that decorated the grave, closing his eyes as he paid his respects to his mentor.

Standing up, he went around the other destroyed sections, trying to see what else had been left in the ruins. He gawked when he noticed that there was a passage that had been left intact, what should have been the gateway to the basement. Although there was no more door in its presence, there was a wide open area where Ratonhnhaké:ton could easily descend into. Thus, he went over to it and hiked down the dusty passage.

Once he reached the basement, he scanned his surroundings and was shocked to see how much was actually preserved. Despite the place looking worn, there were many things that were left unharmed. The assassin went around and carefully surveyed everything. He noticed some weapons on the racks that seemed to be in decent condition and picked one of them up.

“With a little polishing, this could be good as new,” he remarked, holding a sword up close. It was badly tarnished and its edges slightly blunt, but this was something that could be easily fixed by a blacksmith.

Beaming, Ratonhnhaké:ton gathered as many weapons as he could—mainly the most efficient ones—and fastened them onto the slots of his outfit. “These might come in handy someday,” he told himself.

There was not much else left for him to do, as all other objects seemed to have perished in the fire. Thus, he strode across the room and reached the passage. As he was about to exit, he stepped onto something. Looking down at what it was, he saw that he trampled onto a portrait of some sort. He picked it up and examined it, wiping away the thick dust.

There was a plaque engraved onto the bottom edge of the portrait that read, “MY BEST AND BRIGHTEST – MASTER ASSASSI—”

Ratonhnhaké:ton squinted; he couldn’t make out the rest of the words as they were so badly eroded. The portrait was much worn and had a few spots where patches of canvas were torn. There was an area that seemed to have ripped apart the eyes of the painted person, and Ratonhnhaké:ton swiped his hand across it so as to see how the portrait looked like if it were pieced back together.

Upon seeing who it as, the assassin gasped. He was so stunned by what he saw that he mindlessly dropped the painting.

“F-father…?” he mumbled, mouth agape.

He couldn’t believe it; he just could not believe it! He would have expected to find a painting of his father in this basement, but not one where he was addressed as an assassin—a Master Assassin nonetheless.

He was speechless for several minutes as he tried to let every sort of explanation sink in. It was impossible for Haytham to have become an assassin, for he never was. But just then, Ratonhnhaké:ton recalled the words his mother left him when she handed the hidden blades over to him…

_“He was part of an order—a secret brotherhood.”_

Ratonhnhaké:ton narrowed his eyes. “I know who my father was—” he picked up the painting from on the floor—“And he was not this.”

He could feel his hands tremble as he clutched the portrait. Exhaling an anxious breath, he decided to keep it. He tucked it underneath his arm, giving the basement one last glance before he made his exit.

When he emerged into daylight, he opted to just walk his way towards the town centre instead of fly as usual, for his mind was reeling with so many questions. There was just so much he needed to know, and he couldn’t calm his thoughts down.

“Oy there!” a voice hollered from nowhere.

Stopping in his tracks, Ratonhnhaké:ton turned around to see who it was. “Oh—hello, Terry,” he greeted, smiling and waving at him. He saw that the Scott was on horseback and apparently halted his tracks.

“Good day today, eh? Goin’ out for a late mornin’ stroll, I take it?” Terry prompted, tipping his hat off.

“Uhm, you could say that,” Ratonhnhaké:ton answered.

“Well then what’re ye doin’ just walkin’ ‘round like that? It’s quite a long ways from ‘ere if you’re heading towards the town square,” Terry pointed out. He tossed his head behind him and said, “Hop on—I can give ye a ride back to the village.”

Shrugging, Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded and climbed onto the horse. Sitting behind Terry, he carefully positioned himself so as to not fall.

“So, anything interesin’ happenin’ lately?” Terry inquired as he ordered the horse to resume galloping.

“Well, I was investigating the remains of the mansion on the hill,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mentioned, gazing down at the portrait in his hands.

“Oh really? No one’s visited that graveyard for quite a while now.”

“What…happened there?”

“The old man tha’ used to live there died when his ‘ouse got burnt down—t’was a disheartening day for all of us when it happen’d. He fought tooth an’ nail defendin’ our little haven from the enemies—we wouldn’t ‘ave survived today if it weren’t for ‘im.”

“Oh…I see…I am sorry to hear that,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mumbled, frowning.

Terry turned his head to look at the Native, worry washing over his face. “If ye wan’ the whole story, yer gonna ‘ave to ask Iliana fer that.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton furrowed his eyebrows. “Why? How come you cannot tell me the whole story?”

Smirking, Terry replied, “Well, don’ wanna ruin a good day with glum talk now, do we? Besides—it gives ya an excuse to spend more time with tha’ lass.”

The assassin pouted. “How—how did you know I…?”

Terry laughed. “Everyone knows, mate! Gossip spreads quickly in a small settlement such as ours.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton simply sighed.

“So, how have you been with her?” Terry asked, curious.

“Well, the first week was…rough, so to speak. She did not believe in many things that I have told her about. Sometimes, I would also get annoyed by her behaviour. The second week, she was a little more amicable. However, she…” Ratonhnhaké:ton trailed off, unsure of how to answer.

“She…what?” Terry urged.

“She was…assertive, yet cold at the same time—although she did not mean it. More like…she ignored my advances in a teasing manner.”

“Aaah, so ye mean she was playing hard to get. Y’know, if ye ever need courtship advice, ye can always come to me or any of the other boys for help,” Terry stated with a chuckle, grinning.

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled his eyes then said, “I appreciate your offer, but I am doing fine.”

“Never be afraid to admit that yer in love,” Terry proclaimed, smiling.

Grumbling in defeat, Ratonhnhaké:ton muttered, “Well, you can start by telling me where I can get the best fresh-picked daisies.”

“Oh—easy! Just head on over to Prudence’s house. She’s always got rows an’ rows of flowers up fer sale in ‘er front yard.”

“I see. Can you take me to her place, then?”

“Oh sure, no problem! Just a few more miles ‘til we reach the town square an’ then I can drop ye off to her house.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded and thanked the man as they continued travelling. When they had arrived at the town centre, Terry dropped Ratonhnhaké:ton off at Prudence’s place then went off on his merry way.

“Oh, Ratonhnhaké:ton, nice to see you!” Prudence greeted; she was restocking her floral racks with fresh-cut flowers.

“Good morning, ma’am,” the Native man addressed, smiling. He went over to the rows of flowers up for sale.

“How have you been today? See anything you like?” Prudence inquired as she gathered a bunch of roses in her hand and began bundling them into a neat bouquet.

“I was just out for a late morning stroll,” Ratonhnhaké:ton responded, stepping closer to get a better look of what the madam had in stock. “Do you have any daisies for sale?”

“Daisies? Why yes, I certainly do!” Prudence chirped, showing him a rack full of daisy bouquets. “As you can see, I have them in various bundles. What size do you need?”

“Uhm, just something small and simple,” Ratonhnhaké:ton answered, scratching his head.

“No problem then. How about this—” she handed him a posy of daisies wrapped in a yellow ribbon—“Small and simple yet pretty enough.”

“Thank you,” Ratonhnhaké:ton said, taking the flowers in his hand and handing Prudence her money.

“So…what is the occasion, Ratonhnhaké:ton?” Prudence questioned, putting her hands on her hips. “This is the first time I see you buying flowers from me.”

“Oh—uhm, they are—these are for—” Ratonhnhaké:ton fumbled with his words, nervous about telling Prudence what his purpose was for buying the flowers. Clearing his throat, he managed to spit out, “They-are-for-Iliana.”

Prudence could see that the bloke was grinning bashfully now, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ah, I see that you are taking my advice of what—‘ _we_ women’—like, in terms of gifts.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton merely grumbled Prudence laughing at him.

“My apologies, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she said with a chortle, the last of her laughter dying away as she calmed herself and beamed. “It is just endearing to see you heed my words. Well then, if you are courting a maiden, those flowers will do. However—” she grabbed a bouquet of scarlet daisies from her stands and held them out to Ratonhnhaké:ton. “For someone like Iliana, I think the red daisies better suit her.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at the white daises in his hands then glanced at the red ones in Prudence’s. Shrugging, he replied, “Alright then—” and exchanged the white ones for the red. “But how so?”

“Well, the white daises signify innocence, purity and cheerfulness. Not saying that these characteristics don’t apply to Iliana. However, the red ones symbolize beauty unknown to the possessor—and you find Iliana to be quite stunning, no?”

“No—I-I mean uh, yes—yes, i-indeed.”

“Then give those to her—I’m sure she’ll love it.”

* * *

The skin-walker was perched atop the roof of Mile’s End, where he could see Iliana chatting with Ellen from below. They were in the courtyard, laughing about something, but Ratonhnhaké:ton could not make out what it was that they were talking about. Activating his eagle power, he flew to a nearby branch and settled onto it. It was close to the ladies’ location yet still far enough that they wouldn’t be able to detect him. Thus, the assassin began his eavesdropping:

“So…how have you and our newest village helper been doing lately?” Ellen inquired, simpering.

“You mean, Ratonhnhaké:ton?” Iliana replied.

“Of course—I’ve seen how you two interact with each other.”

“Aha, well…”

“Well…?”

Iliana hesitated to respond and scratched the back of her head. She wasn’t sure how to explain to Ellen just what kind of fellow Ratonhnhaké:ton was.

Meanwhile, above her, the skin-walker leaned closer in order to better hear her conversation.

“He was—strange—at first, but once you get to know him, he isn’t all that bad,” Iliana explained, putting a hand over her heart and staring into space.

“Mhmm. Go on,” Ellen insisted, nodding her head.

“There is a sort of aggressive air to him—kind of like…a wolf, I guess. But most of the time he is very sweet—sometimes to the point where he’s so shy that it’s adorable,” Iliana stated, covering her mouth and giggling. “He’s such a puppy…”

“No kidding. Just look at his eyes—how wide and child-like they are when something piques his curiosity,” Ellen commented, mirroring Iliana’s body language by putting a hand over her mouth and chuckling.

“Indeed! I love how they shine even in the dark,” Iliana remarked; she smiled and cupped her cheeks.

“Ah, but what about the rest of his features, hmmm?” Ellen queried, raising a brow and simpering.

“Oh, of course—he’s quite handsome. I especially love his smile,” Iliana answered. Chortling, she continued, “They are so few and far between that it’s definitely a sight to behold when you do catch it.”

“That, my friend, is something I shall have to agree upon completely,” Ellen said, beaming.

The two women laughed once more then changed the subject. As they discussed about mundane things, Ratonhnhaké:ton couldn’t help but feel flattered at what his person of interest testified about him. He felt bashful all of a sudden, his cheeks getting hot as he mulled over the praises given to him.

Despite hearing Iliana compliment him several times in his past life, he still wasn’t used to accepting them without being so modest about it. The skin-walker sighed; he observed Ellen waving her friend goodbye and exiting the yard, leaving Iliana all to her lonesome. Ratonhnhaké:ton smirked; this was the perfect chance for him to surprise his object of affection. Thus, he used his eagle power again and swooped down to the ground when Iliana wasn’t looking. Sauntering up behind her, he readied his bundle of daises and hid it behind his back.

Iliana watched Ellen traipse away until she was no longer visible to the naked eye. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment and spun around. She was about to commence walking until she bumped into something solid. Opening her eyes, she jumped and shrieked at the unexpected sight.

“Ah! Ratonhnhaké:ton—m-my, you startled me there!” Iliana gasped, attempting to relax by clutching her chest and slowing her breathing. “How—how did you get here? I did not see you before…”

“Magic,” the skin-walker stated, grinning wolfishly.

The woman glared at him, raising an eyebrow. Tossing her head, she put a hand on her hip and spat, “Uh-huh. Look, I get that you’re better than some lowly brujo, but cut the gilipolez, will you? I know you were spying on me from back there—” she pointed towards some bushes not too far from their location—“And I just couldn’t see it because you blend well with the environment thanks to that ridículo lobo **[1]** outfit of yours.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton simply smirked—he always found it amusing whenever Iliana would get fiery like this, especially when she did not want to admit something.

“Hey hey hey—pretend you didn’t hear me say anything to Ellen, alright?” Iliana warned, poking Ratonhnhaké:ton in the chest and squinting at him.

“Too late. Besides, I bought you these—” the gentleman whipped out the daisy bouquet that he was hiding from behind his back and presented them to Iliana.

The lady gasped, taking the daisy bouquet from Ratonhnhaké:ton’s hand and touching the soft petals with her fingers. “Aww, how sweet of you—” She yanked one of the man’s wolf pelt ears and caressed it, causing him to smile in approval—“And in my favorite color, too!”

“I—I think they go well with that crimson shawl you are wearing,” Ratonhnhaké:ton stammered, clasping his hands together and twiddling his thumbs. “The…red—it—it reminds me of h-how…”

Iliana gave him a quizzical look then moved closer until all space between them was erased. “Do not be shy to tell me anything,” she whispered, pecking the tip of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s nose.

The Mohawk man blinked several times, a visible pink shade forming on his cheeks. He disregarded it, seizing Iliana’s shoulders and murmuring, “You are beautiful, Iliana.”

The damsel batted her eyelashes at him, simpering. Securing the bouquet and tucking it in the waist ties of her apron, she took the ornate shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around her head. She clutched the long ends of the fabric in her palms, enclosing it around Ratonhnhaké:ton’s crown so as to conceal themselves. “Bo’matum,” Iliana uttered, kissing him on the lips.

Shocked at first, the Mohawk warrior soon closed his eyes and returned the kiss. His arms moved over to her waist, pulling her nearer to him. He continued to osculate her, alternating bottom lip with top lip as he became lost in the sea of crimson.

At that moment, a memory came flooding into his mind. He reminisced about a time when Iliana danced las sevillianas **[2]** with her cousin, Nilda, at fiesta he was invited to. Nilda wore a traje gitano **[3]** in royal blue, which paled in comparison to Iliana’s magnificent scarlet one. She was absolutely breathtaking in her dress, the color complimenting her olive skin tone very well. She looked even better with her hair up in a simple yet elegant bun, adorned with a beautiful rose that matched her attire. It was a stark contrast to the pompous Antoinette-inspired Rococo fashion that Ratonhnhaké:ton usually saw her wear during other social functions, and he really liked her better this way.

He observed her swirling around to the beats of the accompanied guitar playing and singing, closing in on her partner for a split second then stepping back. Her dainty arms waved around in a sensuous manner as she fiddled with the castanets in her palms. The hem of her dress flowed around her as she whirled again, and Ratonhnhaké:ton was in awe by her elaborate footwork.

Iliana never believed that she was a good dancer, as she was not very avid about it. However, Ratonhnhaké:ton thought otherwise and insisted that she was flawless in her movements. He remembered her thanking him in private later on as the evening gave way to midnight. She did so by kissing him, the rouge of her soft lips leaving an imprint on his.

Iliana playfully tugged on Ratonhnhaké:ton’s mouth once more, bringing him back to reality. “You have been good to me so far, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she mumbled, her voice almost a whisper. “Meet me at the tavern after business hours—I want to spend more time with you.”

“Anything for you, konwakeri,” Ratonhnhaké:ton purred, his eyes half-closed as his hands grazed the small of Iliana’s back.

“Kon…wakeri?”

“It means ‘daisy’ in Kanien’kéha.”

Iliana couldn’t help but chuckle. “You are too sweet at times,” she said, grinning. “Well then, I must get going—” she took the ends of the shawl off Ratonhnhaké:ton’s head and completely wrapped it around her own until it formed a makeshift hood—“So I shall see you tonight, yes?”

“Yes, I will be there,” Ratonhnhaké:ton affirmed, releasing his hold on Iliana’s waist.

“Alright, I’ll see you later then,” Iliana chirped, beaming. Whirling around, she began strolling towards the pavement that connected Mile’s End to the main road.

Ratonhnhaké:ton watched the woman’s retreating figure become smaller as she marched on to the center of the town. The red of her hood stood out from all the dull greenery that surrounded her, bringing him back to that precious time once again when he watched her dance around in that frilly scarlet dress. He sighed; he could feel butterflies in his stomach, something he had not felt in a while. He clutched his stomach, as if he were attempting to subdue the queasy sensation.

He frowned; he suddenly remembered exactly what he came here for besides giving Iliana her flowers. “Damn it, she’s gone,” he muttered, huffing. “Oh well, I guess I can ask her about Achilles and my father later when I go to see her at the tavern.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton knitted his brows and rubbed his chin; as much questions that Iliana had to ask him, he had his own to ask as well. There were some things in this universe that he did not understand and were confusing. He didn’t mind spending more time with the woman and discovering more about each other through their questions. However, he really needed to resume his mission before King Washington’s tyrannical reign got any worse. Thus, he would depart for Boston the first thing tomorrow morning.

The assassin gazed at Mile’s End; he knew that Iliana would be upset if he left without warning. He would promise her that he would be back, as he could not afford to spend the night in any inn at Boston. Luckily, that city was not too far from here, and he could quickly make it back on horse.

He smiled; he was grateful to have sought refuge in this haven. No enemy could touch him here, and he could take his rest at the inn and plot between missions.

Figuring that there was not much for him to do here in the courtyard, he traipsed towards the pavement and headed for the town square to see what the others were up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 ‘ridiculous wolf’ in Spanish [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 2 A type of Spanish folk dance from Seville, commonly mistaken for the flamenco to the untrained eye [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 3 A kind of flamenco-style dress worn when dancing las sevillanas [⇧ Return to paragraph]


	5. Familiarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let everyone know that I have yet to read _Assassin’s Creed: Forsaken_ , so all interactions between Connor and Haytham are based on the main game.
> 
> I know that everyone has different interpretations of Connor and Haytham's relationship, but for my chapter, I wrote it the way I personally view their relationship.
> 
> I almost cried while writing this. I just…I just really love the Kenways OKAY

It was closing hours at the Mile’s End tavern, and the only people left were Iliana and Ratonhnhaké:ton . They sat on top of a rug in front of the fireplace. Iliana caressed the rug’s softness as she prompted, “So, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton took a sip of his drink before answering, “I heard that there used to be an old man that lived in the big house on the hill.”

“Oh…yes…him,” Iliana spoke, her voice hollow. She stared into space, as if there was something on her mind. “…His name was Achilles Davenport.”

“So I have been told,” Ratonhnhaké:ton uttered, expression curious.

“Let me guess—you knew him, too?”

He recalled hearing two guards talk about an ‘old Black man with a cane’ when he escaped the prison cell. “Indeed, but I would like to know what happened to him," he responded.

Iliana sighed, hesitant to explain to him about the origins of this settlement and all its secrets. “I have lived here since I was a young lady. Back then, everything was so peaceful and quiet…village life was just so happy. We were taken good care of by a secret brotherhood that made its presence here. They gave us their protection in exchange for food, shelter and clothing. The Brotherhood became so prominent that they soon established their headquarters up on that old mansion on the hill. There were a good handful of them, those members of this secret society. Our settlement became free of conflict thanks to them.”

Iliana picked up her mug of ale from the blanket, taking a swig before she carried on. “Then one day, everything changed when the Bluecoats attacked. What used to be the defenders of this country soon became offenders to those who opposed the new king’s rule. We were stuck with yet another King George to deal with, this time our very own Commander Washington.”

The woman exhaled another stressed breath then said, “So…Achilles Davenport, the mentor of his Brotherhood, made it his mission to stop the Bluecoats from advancing and discovering this place. He was successful in dispatching some petty scouts so that our secrets remained secret. However…”

Iliana stared into space again, visage sorrowful. “The enemies did not escape without leaving their nasty tricks behind. They set the Davenport manor on fire without notice, leaving Achilles to perish in it.”

The assassin stared at his drink, feeling downcast all of a sudden. “He was…my mentor,” he mumbled, lips daring to twist into a frown. “He taught me everything I knew about the Order.”

“Really?” Iliana questioned; she was confused from his statement as she did not ever recall having seen Ratonhnhaké:ton be trained by Achilles. “I did not know that he trained you.”

“Well, not in this universe,” Ratonhnhaké:ton said, smiling wryly.

“Oh— _pssh_ , of course,” Iliana spat, rolling her eyes. She quickly changed the subject before the Mohawk got annoyed at her by saying, “Anyway, there were others as well—his students…they were deployed to Boston and New York to deal with the crisis there. We…had not heard back from them ever since. They were so few in numbers—I don’t think they could have ever survived whatever sorcery that Washington wielded in his hands.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton set his mug down and took out a picture from his bag; it was the portrait of his father. “This man, do you know him?” he interrogated, pointing at the painting.

“Oh—why yes, indeed I do!” Iliana exclaimed, showcasing a look of surprise. “His name was Haytham Kenway , and…I guess he was killed in action, trying to save us all from harm.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton gazed at the portrait, hands grazing the canvas and putting back together the slashed piece that tore apart Haytham’s eyes. “…He is my father,” he proclaimed.

“Your—your father!?” Iliana blurted, wide-eyed.

“Yes…indeed.”

“No way, I did not know—I thought the man you told me before was a different British bloke. I never would’ve known that it was Haytham of all people! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“I wanted to see if you remember.”

“Well…” Iliana knitted her eyebrows as a sudden realization came to her. “Oh! I have talked to him before. When we would all gather together at the tavern, he used to tell us so much about his family—about how he looked up so much to his own father and how he wished the same for his son. He had such high expectations for his little one, hoping that he would carry on the family legacy and make the Kenway name a proud one.”

“He—he mentioned me??” Ratonhnhaké:ton pressed, desperate to know more.

“You know, I am not sure. I don’t remember much—” Iliana tore her attention away from him as she became lost in thought. Her eyes became enlarged again as she was able to recall more about Haytham. “You know what, now that I think about it, he did…he has mentioned you before. Several times, actually.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton gawked, completely speechless.

Iliana took the portrait away from his grasp and set it down on the rug. She grabbed his hands and gathered them in her own. “This is amazing, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she murmured, grinning. “After all these years, I didn’t know that the son Haytham so boasted about was you. And now here I am, meeting you in the flesh.”

The man looked down at his hands then at Iliana’s face. “You make this all sound so happy,” he mumbled. Frowning, he whispered, “But this was not how I remembered it at all.”

Iliana returned his unhappy expression and said, “So, looks like you have your own memory problems after all. But not the way I expected it. How did you remember it, then?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton drew out a long breath and testified, “I never had a chance to grow up with my father. I first met him when I became an adult. We…tried to make amends, tried to form the father-son bond that we both desperately wanted. But it was too strained and far beyond saving for it come to fruition. I thought I knew him, I really did. But it was not until I read his journal that I realized just how much about him I did not know at all. I was wrong—wrong about everything.”

Iliana couldn’t help but caress his hands and squeeze them tight. There was a pained look on her face, as if she could empathize with the poor man. “We all make mistakes, because we were too immature back then to see how wrong we were,” she stated.

“Yes…that is why every day, I feel regret. I wish I could have told him that I was sorry—sorry for everything.”

“Well, even though it may be too late for that, you can always move forward—do something good to honor your father. I am sure that whatever you do in your endeavors, he would be proud of it like he always was.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled wryly. “The last moments my father and I had ended in a fight. He died, saying that he was proud of me in a way, but that he should have killed me long ago.”

“Oh—that’s awful,” Iliana remarked, expression quizzical. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t know why a father would say that to his own son…”

“No, I understood what he meant by that,” Ratonhnhaké:ton declared. He stared at Iliana’s grip on him and replied, “He is a blunt one, definitely full of pride. Confident, assertive, bold…it conflicted with my values. He is not the type of man to admit such humble affections. He ‘should have killed me long ago’ because if he did, then he would not have come to know me for who I am, how I really was his son and how he saw me in him.”

“I see. So here we have a man admitting that he really did come to love you in his own way. He saw that you were worthy, but that he was unworthy himself to have experienced such things. He was proud, yes, yet he was humble enough to feel that he did not deserve any of it—didn’t deserve any of you.”

“…I wish things would have been different for me and my father.”

Iliana closed her eyes as the atmosphere became too painful for her to bear. Sighing, she mentioned, “He became a Master Assassin under Achilles’s wing. Haytham told me and the others once that he was next in line to take charge of the Brotherhood…he wanted you to become his apprentice, his successor to the unbroken line of mentorship. He told us that he was grooming you to become the best and nothing but the best. But he died before any of that even had a chance to happen.”

The assassin gazed at the bracers on his arms and held them up for Iliana to see. “My father left these for me. I…guess…he…he really wanted me to have it.”

“Of course he would,” Iliana murmured; she carefully touched the bracers on the man’s arms and traced their intricate designs. “He wanted a part of him to remain with you forever, so that you would not forget.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton exhibited another wry smile, and Iliana could’ve sworn that his eyes looked glossier than usual. However, he blinked several times and pursed his lips.

Iliana wasn’t sure if she should reveal more to him about her talks with Haytham now that more of her memory was coming back. It had been so long since she spoke to him that she didn’t even realize that she indirectly knew Ratonhnhaké:ton. However, she was beginning to express doubt in just how accurate her memory was, so she inquired, “Ratonhnhaké:ton, you said you knew me from long ago yet we have never met before. Has Haytham ever told you about me?”

“No, he has not.”

“Oh…well, he has told me about you countless of times.”

“Ah…I see.”

“Yet you remember things differently. What you told me back then when we had our picnic were things that Haytham never would’ve known. You speak as though we all live in an enchanted world, declaring that we are all cursed and must be awoken from this spell.” She leaned closer, her face a mere centimeters away from the skin-walker’s. She whispered, “Tell me, Ratonhnhaké:ton, what you do remember of us. I want to know how we met.”

 

Ratonhnhaké:ton raised his eyebrows the smirked. “Alright then. Get yourself comfortable on the rug, because this is going to be a long story…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I have to cut this part short because it was getting too long. Plus, the other half started to become irrelevant to this chapter’s content, so I decided to just split this section. I will be posting the other chapter up next week, so stay tuned for that!
> 
> Thank you to all of those who left kudos and wonderful reviews! I really appreciate the feedback and I wouldn’t have created such a wonderful original character if it weren’t for you guys. :)


	6. An Officer and a Gentleman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the assassination contract side missions in _Assassin’s Creed III_ were pretty dismal, so here I attempt to restore them to their former, AC2 glory.
> 
> Several inspirations come to mind for this chapter, mainly all those period films such as _Glory, Marie Antoinette_ or so. Since I have not played _Assassin’s Creed III: Liberation_ (I’ve only seen play-throughs of it on You Tube although I finished watching all of them), I will be disregarding anything that may conflict with Aveline’s timeline. The same can be said for _Assassins’ Creed II: Discovery_. I’ve never played it (I don’t have a Nintendo DS), and I also never bothered to play all those official Assassin’s Creed facebook app games ( _Project Legacy_ and _Discover Your Legacy_ ). So instead, I spent several hours reading articles on the [Assassin’s Creed wiki](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com) just to get everything right. So yeah, I did my research.
> 
> By the way, I used the Spanish spelling of ‘Borgia’ (which would be ‘Borja’) for certain conversations. So no, I did not spell Borgias wrong, okay? I will use 'Borja' when my (Spanish) characters are speaking and 'Borgia' when the story is being narrated in 3rd-person.
> 
> Honestly though, I had a great time writing this chapter as I was also inspired by AC2 and AC: Brotherhood (obviously). In fact, I honestly wouldn’t mind if we get an “Assassin’s Creed III: Brotherhood” game featuring Connor.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments! I would to know how well I did for this chapter and for the rest of my story as well. Thank you to everyone else who has left me kudos and reviews! ♥

“Long story, huh?” Iliana retorted, smiling and raising a brow in a suggestive manner. She made herself comfortable on the rug by lying down and propping her head up on her elbow. Chuckling, she expressed, “So now you are going to tell me a bedtime story?”

“You could say that,” Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, mirroring Iliana’s body language and smirking. “It all began on a June summer evening…”

* * *

_Summer, 1779: San Juan, Puerto Rico_

Music and laughter can be heard throughout as guests occupied the floors and courtyards of the _Hacienda de Silva._ The warm, summer air was perfect for a night of celebration. It was bearable enough so that the party guests did not sweat profusely, although many still chose to stay inside the ballroom since it was cooler than the outside air.

However, one particular hostess was present at the majestic garden of the estate, along with the handful of guests that decided to remain outside and enjoy the early evening sky.

She came up to a naval captain, whom seemed to be gazing upon the vast sea view that the garden front provided. He looked a bit peculiar, his uniform not in accordance with the other naval officers present at the ball. His tanned skin and exotic features made him stand out from the others, yet he still seemed to be a refined man of quality.

“Quite a marvelous sight isn’t it?” the lady prompted, smiling at him.

Upon hearing the damsel speak, the Captain turned his attention towards her and said, “It is breath-taking.”

He looked her up and down, noticing how pretty she looked in her light blue ball gown. He features were quite lovely as well: her raven hair was styled into a florid up-do and was embellished with accessories that were equally fanciful. Gorgeous pearls adorned her neck, and the dress she wore revealed much of her supple skin and cleavage. The Captain had to stop himself from gazing down any further; he never understood why women wore such revealing dresses at parties like this yet would get mad whenever a gentleman would stare at their cleavage.

The smile on the lady’s lips grew wider. “Of course—it is San Juan after all. People do not call it the ‘most beautiful port city of all the Caribbean’ for nothing.”

The Captain simply returned her smile. Wide-eyed, he uttered, “Oh, excuse me—my apologies, I seem to have lost my manners—” He tipped his tricorn hat off, bowing and introducing himself. “Uhm, I am Connor Kenway—er, just call me ‘Connor’—er, well—‘Captain Connor’ if you please. Uhm—for personal reasons.”

The hostess chuckled and curtsied. “Pleasure to meet you, Capitán Connor. So, what ship do you commandeer, hmm?”

“The Aquila, also known as the ‘Ghost of the North Seas’. I am not sure if you have seen it, but I docked my ship to a port near your estate.”

“Ahhh yes, the Aquila…I have seen it, and she is a beautiful ship.”

The Captain beamed at her, pleased to find that she liked his ship. Just then, he realized he still didn’t know what her name was. “Oh—excuse me, but I never got your name.”

“Oh—oh, pardon me! Seems I have been a bit rude as well,” she apologized, placing a hand on her chest. Simpering, she announced, “My name is Iliana Adelina María de la Luz Zoraida de Silva y Mendoza.”

Connor scratched the side of his head, baffled. “Do all nobles have to have such long names?” he questioned.

Iliana laughed then said, “That’s just the name I was baptized with. You do not have to address me as that. Just call me ‘Iliana’.”

“Alright then, ‘Iliana’ it is. Good evening to you, madam,” Connor greeted; he took the damsel’s hand and kissed it.

Iliana grinned and nodded her head. Then, she eyed her acquaintance and remarked, “You know, you look quite exotic…not like the rest of the pasty fops around here.”

Connor couldn’t help but blush and beam in flattery. “T-thank you,” he stuttered.

The damsel giggled. “You don’t happen to be a _mestizo_ now, are you?” she queried.

“Mes—mestizo?”

“Yes, mestizo—you know, half-Indio, half-European.”

“In..dio…?” Connor mumbled, utterly confused.

Iliana gave him a long, sideways glance. _Hmm, I must be wrong. I guess he’s not from the southern Americas_ , she mused. “It means ‘Indian’ in Spanish,” she explained, her expression changing into a more polite one. “You look like you are mixed—not saying that’s a bad thing, because I’m one as well.”

“Oh—oh! I see. Yes, yes I am indeed a…whatever it was that you said,” Connor replied, grinning sheepishly.

* * *

Chuckling, Iliana interrupted the telling of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s story by commenting, “Well, I do think you are a _fine_ mestizo, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

The Mohawk warrior blinked furiously, blushing. “Uh—w-well, u-uhm…”

Iliana giggled. “You are so shy.”

Shaking his head and clearing his throat, Ratonhnhaké:ton changed the subject. “A-anyway, as I was saying…”

* * *

Iliana chortled. “The word I said was ‘mestizo’,” she reminded him, simpering. “But if you were to address me, it would be _mestiza_ as that is the feminine form.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Connor noted. Smiling, he asked, “What nation are you from?”

“Nation? Hmm…well, my dad is of course Spanish, but my mother…ah yes, my dear mother…she hails from the Taíno Nation.”

Connor could see that the woman was reminiscing about something, and he wondered if he asked too personal of a question. “Hmm, interesting…I have never heard of them before.”

“That is because there are so few of them left. They are the natives of Puerto Rico—or ‘Boriken’, as we call it—before the Spaniards arrived and…” her voice trailed off, not in the mood to answer what happened to her mother’s people.

“Oh, I see—I am sorry to hear that.”

“Do not be. I have nothing against the Spaniards, for I am one. Anyway, may I ask what nation you’re from?”

“Kanien'kehá:ka—‘People of the Flint’.”

“Ah, intriguing! I’m afraid that I am not all too familiar with tribes from the north. However, I would love to see the northern colonies someday. I spent most of my life here in the Caribbean, doing business between Puerto Rico and Louisiana.”

“Hmm…well who knows? Perhaps someday you will be able to visit the British colonies,” Connor voiced, smiling.

Iliana beamed. “So, what brings you here? Judging by your uniform, you don’t look like you are part of any sort of established navy,” she pointed out.

“I was invited to this ball by Colonel Emilio de Silva y Mendoza under ‘special circumstances’,” Connor mentioned as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was trying to look for him earlier, but I could not find where he went.”

“Emilio? Why, that’s my father!” Iliana exclaimed, placing a hand on her chest again. “He should be around here. I saw him go off to speak with the other military officers in a private room, so I can escort you to him to see if he has finished speaking.”

“Hm. I guess so—”

“Ah, there you are!”

An officer in an elaborate, ivory regimental dress uniform called out to them, his arms wide open as he scurried to their location.

“Ah, papá!” Iliana greeted, going up to her father in order to hug him. “¡Estoy tan felíz de verte! **[1]**”

“Y yo estoy felíz de ver que estas disfrutando de esta maravillosa noche, querida, **[2]**” he murmured as he embraced his daughter. He noticed that there was a bloke standing next to him, so he released Iliana and said, “Ah, excuse me—I just haven’t seen my daughter around lately. I haven’t even had the time to enjoy this ball as I’ve been so busy dealing with some…private matters.”

“No, that is fine,” Connor replied, yanking his color to ward off the awkward tension.

“Oh! I take it that you are el capitán of the Aquila, ¿no?”

“No—uh, I mean—yes,” the Captain sputtered as he exhibited another one of sheepish grins.

“Good! Because I have been looking all over for you as well—” he grabbed Connor’s hand and shook it. “My name is Emilio de Silva y Mendoza, and I am the Colonel of the Regimiento Fijo de Puerto Rico **[3]**.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Colonel Silva,” the Captain spoke awkwardly as Emilio released his hold on him. He gawked, dazed by his liveliness.

Connor noticed how Emilio looked a bit like his daughter: his greying hair was tied back to a slick ponytail by a blue ribbon. There were laugh lines around his mouth and crow’s feet under his brown eyes that showed his age, yet his vivacity made him appear younger.

“I see you have met my daughter,” Emilio remarked, shifting his attention to Iliana. He took her hand and raised it slightly, as if to showcase her to Connor. “She is beautiful, ¿no?”

“No—uh, y-yes—she is quite stunning,” Connor stuttered; he could never the get nuances of the Romance languages correct.

Iliana batted her eyelashes and simpered. “Gracias, Capitán Connor,” she said.

The Captain bashfully returned her smile. However, before he could say anything, he was interrupted by Emilio.

“Señor, you have received my correspondence, yes?” the Colonel muttered into his ear.

 “Yes, I have,” Connor responded; he gave off a bewildered expression. “Why?”

“Then you know the exact reason why you’re here! This whole party—it is just a front. No one should be hosting a military ball in the middle of a war!” Emilio hissed, side-glancing at Iliana to make sure she did not overhear him. “Would you excuse us for a moment, Iliana? I must discuss something important with el capitán here—” He backed away from the Captain for a bit, going to a spot where their conversation would not be heard and signaled for him to come closer. Once Connor did, Emilio continued, “This Revolution has been going on for a while now, but it was not until recently that Spain chose to declare war on Great Britain. But, we cannot even do anything about it because our General de Brigada **[4]** is missing in action—kidnapped—by _Templars_ nonetheless!”

The Captain gaped at Emilio then glanced at where Iliana was standing. “I think it is better to discuss this in a more secluded place,” he suggested.

“Oh—sí, of course, of course. Here, come with me—” he motioned for Connor to follow him. However, before he could take any step further, he turned around and hollered, “I will see you later, Iliana. Meanwhile, have fun and enjoy the party.”

“I will, papá!” Iliana exclaimed, waving at the two gentlemen who were retreating into the villa.

* * *

“Wait,” Iliana interjected, cutting off the flow of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s narrative once more. “You are going to tell me a story without more of myself in it?”

“No, just be patient,” Ratonhnhaké:ton urged. “The next part I am going to tell you is pivotal to how we met. So…”

* * *

Just then, a suitor came up to Iliana, greeting himself and asking for her name.

Connor glanced back to see what the damsel was doing, and he saw that she was chatting with the suitor. He knitted his eyebrows; he assumed that she must get a lot of suitors. He found her to be intriguing, but if they were to become more than acquaintances, he would have to compete for her affection.

As he and Emilio reached the huge, open glass doors of the ballroom, they entered and made their way across the area, slightly stopping every now and then to say hello to the guests that greeted them. The last bits of Haydn’s _String Quartet No. 6 in A major_ can be heard, and it rung loud and clear until it came to a _fine_ , indicating the end of the piece. The chamber musicians readied themselves to play the next piece—this time, Mozart’s _Viennese Quartet No. 8 in F major._

“This music, señor, you like?” Emilio prompted as they resumed walking.

“Uhm…it is…fanciful,” Connor remarked, unsure of how to answer. Not having attended too many high society parties in his life, he wasn’t the type to be accustomed to such refined tastes. If anything, he preferred the music of his own tribe and the more laid back folk music of the Irish colonists that frequented the taverns.

“My daughter, she plays the fortepiano,” Emilio commented.

“Oh really? That must be nice.”

“Sí. In fact, my entire family and I are staunch patrons of the arts. We host tertulias every now and then—would you like to join them?”

“What are tertulias?”

“They are Iberian equivalent of the French salons. You know, an artistic gathering—a place where all like-minded individuals can share their creative works by showcasing them.”

“Ah, I see. That sounds interesting. I would not mind going to one, then.”

“If you go, then perhaps you might be able to catch one of Iliana’s concerts.”

“Concerts? Well, as long as I get an invitation then I am more than happy to attend.”

Emilio nodded in agreement and beamed.

As they reached the other end of the ballroom, the servants opened the doors for them. They entered a large, brightly illuminated magnificent hall, and the movements of Mozart’s chamber piece were muffled as the doors were closed.

“Over here, señor,” the Colonel uttered as he scurried over to the other end of the hall. He gestured Connor to come over to him.

The Captain complied, dashing towards Emilio’s location.

They entered several other corridors and portals until they came to an inconspicuous area. The corridor was dimly lighted at this part, and the string quartet could no longer be heard. It felt almost eerie to be here, as if this section of the mansion was haunted.

“This is the cabinet room. We are safe here, and no one can eavesdrop on us,” the Colonel affirmed as he opened the door and entered the room.

The study was moderately lit compared to the outside. As Connor stepped in, he was in awe of the number of paintings, scientific works and other such curiosities that littered the place. He went up to what seemed like a nautical instrument and was about to pick it up until Emilio hissed, “Don’t touch that! Or don’t touch anything else—many pieces around here are fragile, and I do not want them to break.”

“Oh—sorry about that,” the Captain apologized.

“Sit down,” Emilio ordered, tossing his head towards a small table in the center of the room.

Connor simply did as he was told and sat down.

The Colonel took his seat on the opposite side and rested his arms on the table. Clasping his hands together, he stated solemnly, “You know what this meeting is about, correct?”

“Yes, it is about the assassination contract that you sent to me.”

“Sí, and as you know, this is something that neither I nor any other military officer can do on our own.”

“And this is why you summoned me here?” Connor questioned.

Emilio nodded. “We have reputations to keep up with…I guess this is why they have people like you around, to do all the dirty work for us,” he commented, smirking and chuckling.

The Captain just shook his head and sighed.

“Don’t take it personally, señor,” Emilio stated as he raised his hand in the air for a split second. “The work you do is nobler than that of the Templars.” Rising from his seat, he went over to a wall full of portraits. “Before we begin our negotiations, let meet you a little bit about my family history…”

Connor observed the Colonel sweeping his hand over two particular paintings, and he recognized one of them belonging to the Borgias. He knew about the Borgias thanks to his mentor’s telling of the history of the Brotherhood. However, the portrait next it was unfamiliar to him.

“Have you heard about the Borjas before?” Emilio queried.

“Yes, I have,” Connor answered.

Sighing, Emilio voiced, “This portrait here next to Cèsar Borja’s—” he pointed his hand next to Cesare’s painting—“That is my ancestor, Baltasar de Silva. He was a master spy of Cèsar’s, a member of the Templar Order, the infamous ‘Barber of Roma’.”

Connor gawked; he wondered if the House of Silva had more Templar members than just Baltasar, so he questioned, “Your family was Templars?”

“No, not all of them. You would be surprised to hear that we have remained largely neutral throughout the centuries, although the ties that some of our ancestors have made with certain Orders has caused much strife within the House of Silva.” Placing his hand under his chin, Emilio continued, “You see, our noble house has a long, rich history of being a powerful influencer in España and all throughout the Mediterranean. Making allies, breaking allies…such is the life of nobility.”

He began to pace around the room, thinking back to the time of the Renaissance. “But it was not until our ‘Barber’ became part of the Templar Order did we get into some trouble. Oh yes, it was fine at first—we had the full support of the House of Borja and had formed powerful alliances with them. However, as the Borjas were assassinated one by one and the rest of their empire fell down, the House of Silva…” Emilio sighed, hesitating for a moment before responding, “We were abandoned, left in the cold—” he slammed his fist onto the wall, triggering the painting of Cesare Borgia to fall down—“ _Betrayed_ by our Templar allies!”

Connor jumped in his seat as he was taken aback by Emilio’s sudden outburst.

“That wretched Cèsar Borja blamed my ancestor’s death on our very own family! How on earth could we have been responsible for such a despicable thing!? He said that we were reckless, a failure—a _disgrace_ to the Templar Order! _Despicable_ , I say! Blaming us for something we did not do when it was _his_ responsibility in the first place!” Emilio roared; his face was so reddened by his rage that Connor could see his veins popping out. Shaking his head and releasing a stressed breath, Emilio muttered, “Al diablo con los Borja y sus descendientes **[5]**…we cut all ties with them, along with anyone who was affiliated with the Templars.  We spent the next several decades aligning ourselves with the Brotherhood in spite of what the Borjas and Templars had done to us—oh yes, some of our family members eventually went on to become assassins, but most of the time we largely remained as powerful benefactors for the Assassin Order. ”

“Oh my…that is…quite a remarkable history you have there,” the Captain commented, his mouth agape.

“Yes, and so you see why this…assassination contract of ours…is very importante,” Emilio murmured; he sighed and hunched his shoulders, worn from his fit of temper. “I want it done not only because it would sway the outcome of the Revolutionary War, but also because I want all Templars to be gone from my life.”

“Is this Templar that you want me to assassinate an officer, sir?” Connor asked.

“Yes, he is. A British officer, nonetheless! Lieutenant Ivor McDougall is your target, and he has captured Brigade General Bernardo de Gálvez y Madrid due to receiving an intercepted copy of a top-secret letter.”

* * *

“Wait,” Iliana blurted; she held up a hand as if to signal Ratonhnhaké:ton to stop his storytelling for a moment. “Bernardo de Gálvez? Didn’t you tell me about him earlier, when we had our picnic?”

“Yes, I did,” Ratonhnhaké:ton answered; he shifted his position to make himself even more comfortable on the rug. “And now you know why I asked you that question back then. He was also known as the ‘Governor’ as he governed Louisiana for a while. As I have said before, he was a notable target for the Templar Order, so…”

* * *

“Gálvez…not only is he my comrade but also a dear friend of mine,” Emilio noted; he walked towards the table and put both of his hands unto the surface. “He and I—along with Captain General and former Louisiana governor, Alejandro O’Reilly—are all close friends. We spent many a summers in New Orleans together, just dawdling around but also taking the time to shape Spanish culture there.” He took his hands off the table and sat down. “Now you know why this is very importante to me. It affects the war, it helps the Templars, and it can mean life or death for my friend.”

“I understand, sir,” Connor voiced. “But this letter he has, what is it about?”

Sighing, Emilio answered, “This letter contains sensitive secrets, mainly war plans. It is a highly classified letter that came from London not too long ago and was delivered to Major General John Campbell of Strachur. In the letter, he was instructed to organize an attack upon New Orleans by conducting the following—” He held up his fingers and began counting, “One, secure from Vice-Admiral Sir Peter Parker as many armed vessels as could be spared from Jamaica—two, collect all forces which could be drawn together in the province—three, take as many faithful Indians as the Superintendent could supply—four, draw on the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury for all expenses. If General Campbell was able to make these preparations, then that meant our Spanish fort in New Orleans was in trouble. Luckily, General Gálvez was somehow able obtain the letter. However, it seems that fate has swung its pendulum back once again…”

“And so you need me to save General Gálvez and kill the officer that has taken him hostage so that the secrets remain with us,” Connor stated, nodding.

“Ah, but it has! I have hold of the letter and have kept it secured in my locker. I was able to obtain it right before Gálvez was taken hostage. The Templars do not know that I have it,” Emilio proclaimed. Laughing, he jeered, “Pah! Those wretched Templars, taking Gálvez for ransom! They told us that he was captured due to not only knowing their confidential plan, but also because he had been smuggling with France, North America and our Spanish colonies in order to promote trade along with supplying them against the British. Of course, this all deals a heavy blow to the British Army, something that the Templars are not all too happy about. They told us that they would agree to let Gálvez go as long as he told them the information they needed and stopped smuggling. Of course, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

“You want to have your cake and eat it, too,” Connor mentioned.

The Colonel glared then spoke solemnly, “Cápitan, I do not want the Templars to find out that I have kept the letter safe and then have them running after me. Also, we need General Gálvez to lead the Spanish forces. If the British win, then we are all doomed.”

“I know, and that is why I accept your contract.”

“Right. So, here is where our target is hiding and where you must rescue Gálvez…”

* * *

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, these details bore me! When are we going to get back to my part?” Iliana whined.

“Be patient, konwakeri. I was just about to tell you until you interrupted me again,” Ratonhnhaké:ton assured, annoyance slightly coating his speech.

“Sorry. The story was just moving a bit slow, that’s all,” Iliana remarked.

Shaking his head, Ratonhnhaké:ton voiced, “Well, the next points are not all that important. It is mainly your father going over the details of the assassination plan. The next part after that, however…”

* * *

The Captain was standing outside the open front gates of the _Hacienda de Silva_ ; he was about to leave until he heard two feminine voices call out to him.

“¡Oiga, señor!”

“¡Capitán Connor!”

Spinning around to see who they were, Connor saw that it was Iliana and a girl he did not recognize. Hoisting their skirts a little bit off the ground, they came rushing up to him, their heels making clattering noises on the cobblestone ground.

“What are you doing here?” the Captain questioned.

“We’re coming with you,” Iliana declared.

“What, no—”

“Oh please, I know what this is all about.”

“You…do?”

Iliana rolled her eyes. “Of course I do! Did you not hear the guests gossiping about how Bernardo de Gálvez is not present at the ball? Rumors are flying around that he went missing. If this keeps up, then soon enough, everyone will know of his abduction.”

“And you want to join me…why?”

“You have never been around San Juan all that much. I know this city more than you do. There are certain areas right now that are highly restricted due to the nature of tonight’s events. You can choose to go by yourself and do it the hard way, or enlist the aid of me and my cousin—” she tossed her head towards the brunette woman next to her and announced, “Brunilda de Meneses. She comes from New Orleans and is here today to enjoy my family’s celebration. Brunilda, meet Capitán Connor. Capitán Connor, meet Brunilda.”

“Buenas noches, señor,” Brunilda greeted, curtseying. “You can just call me ‘Nilda’.”

“Good evening, Nilda,” Connor articulated, taking his hat off and bowing.

“So, I heard that General Gálvez is being held hostage at another villa some several blocks from ours,” Nilda mentioned.

“Yes, he is. It will be quite a long walk from here, so I do not know how you two can manage,” Connor replied, worry lacing his speech.

Chuckling, Nilda commented, “That’s easy, señor. We can either use our private coach or call up one. However, I think it’s best to just summon a coach—it helps keep notoriety down.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I take it that you have all done this before?”

“Sí. In fact, several times,” Iliana noted, smirking. “If you know the history of the House of Silva, we have helped the Brotherhood a countless number of times.”

“Yes, your father just told me.”

“Good. So you know what these are—” Iliana took out a couple of small, pencil-thin knife from the reticules she was carrying—“Poison blades?”

The assassin exhibited an expression of surprise and responded, “Yes, but not the way those look like. I carry poison darts with me instead. How did you…?”

“How did I get these?” Iliana spoke. There was a smirk on her face, and she answered, “Since the decline of the Borja occupation of Roma, the allied factions of the Assassin Order taught our ancestors everything they needed to know in order to assist the asesinos—mainly through Señora Rosa, when she became the head of Rosa in Fiore for a while. Some of our ancestors eventually became assassins because of her.”

“You mean that brothel in Rome?” Connor blurted; he was gawking now, and he wasn’t sure just how many more surprises the Silvas had up in their sleeves.

“Hey! It isn’t just some any old brothel,” Nilda hissed. She narrowed her eyes and proclaimed, “The Rosa in Fiore was a great ally to the asesinos, much like how our House still is. The rest of our ancestors whom were not assassins worked closely with anyone who was affiliated with the Brotherhood ever since the Borjas shamed us and the Templars betrayed us. That included the mercenarios, the courtesanas, the Sánchez family, the House of Medici, the House of Sforza, the House of Auditore…”

The assassin now raised both of his eyebrows in amazement, as these were things that Emilio didn’t tell him.

“Alright alright—Nilda—this is all interesting, but save this talk for another time. We cannot keep our asesino here from delaying his job for too long, ¿no?”

“Oh—sorry about that”, Nilda apologized, rubbing the side of her arm.

Closing her eyes for a bit and shaking her head, Iliana stated, “It’s fine. So, now you know the tricks of our trades, Cápitan Connor. It has been passed down from generation to generation and is alive today to help you.”

“Well then…I cannot deny your extensive knowledge of these things, so I shall let you and Nilda join me on my mission.”

“Good! I can call up a coach from here—” Iliana signaled for a carriage to come to their location.

A black coach arrived at their spot in no time. Connor helped Iliana and her cousin hop onto it, and he went in right after them. He sat next to Iliana while Nilda sat across from them. Once they had all made themselves comfortable on the plush seats, the coachman carried them off to their destination.

“When you were telling me all those things back there, you did not mean to…actually accompany me all the way throughout, do you?” the assassin asked, concern tainting his voice again. “I know there have been female assassins, and there still are. But I do not think you two are suitable to enter the more dangerous zones with me, especially with the clothing you have on right now.”

“Relax, cápitan,” Iliana cooed, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder in order to calm him down. Upon flinching at her touch, Iliana frowned and released her hold on him. “If you know how Ezio used the courtesanas and gitanos **[6]** back then, then you would know how we intend to act. We will accompany you only up to the fringes of a restricted area. For you to go further in and enter the _most_ restricted sections is something that you must do of your own accord.”

“Well, I could always summon my assassin recruits to act as disguises—”

“Hombre tonto **[7]**, your recruits’ Redcoat disguises will not work here in Puerto Rico. The guards here are dressed in the Spanish Army uniforms—all of them are. Any sign of British activity, and they will attack. Hence, this is why you’re better off just using me and Nilda as distractions—plus it’s less conspicuous that way. Why not make life easier for you, cápitan?”

Sighing, Connor muttered, “I guess you are right.”

“I’m glad you agree with me,” Iliana said, smirking. “In fact, we’ll be taking a quick detour before heading to our target location. I think you are going to need the help of more than just me and my cousin—” she poked her head out of the carriage window and ordered the coachman to take them to her friends’ house—“ ¡Date prisa! No tenemos tiempo que perder! **[8]**”

The driver made a sharp turn, triggering everyone inside the coach to tip over sideways as the horses completed their turn.

“Woa—” Connor nearly bumped into Iliana, but was able to hold onto the window rails as the coach became leveled again. Straightening his tricorn hat, he asked, “Would it not be conspicuous though to have _four_ women dressed all…foppish…while entering a restricted zone?”

Nilda laughed. “Señor, we are not going to walk around with these dresses on for too long. The detour we’re taking leads us to Señora Úrsula’s place, our dance instructor.”

“D-dance?” Connor uttered, perplexed. “But what for?”

Iliana chuckled. “Our plan is to disguise ourselves as flamenco dancers—pretend that we’ve been hired to dance for Lieutenant McDougall and his Templar guests. He would be able to less recognize me and my chicas if we are dressed up as ordinary dancers, and he would not have a single clue that their dinner food would eventually be poisoned by us.”

“Plus, Iliana and I make really good dancers,” Nilda noted, grinning.

“Aha, yes indeed—we both have been schooled in the styles of Spanish dance, although not the flamenco…however, I doubt these Templars would know the difference anyway. We will instead be dancing the sevillanas—easily mistaken for the flamenco by foreigners. Anyhow, the flamenco dresses act as better disguises since we can pretend to be commoners.”

The Captain scratched his head and sighed. “Well, I hope you all are quick in changing clothes, because we cannot waste any more time.”

“Oh don’t worry. Señora and her maidservants will be able to help us get dressed quickly,” Iliana assured him. “Besides, I’ve wanted to get out of this frivolous dress for a while now. I was never one for such frilliness—” she undid all the pins and accessories that kept her hair up into its pretentious up-do.

As strands of Iliana’s locks slowly fell one by one, Connor was breathless to see how different she appeared with her hair down. She definitely looked better this way—more natural, more real, showcasing her true self. Her silky black tresses spilled over her shoulders and shyly touched the bottom of her breasts. “Well, how do I look?” she asked, shaking her head so as to tousle her hair.

The Captain simply gawked. “You—y-you look—b-beau—”

“Hey, we’re here!” Nilda bellowed.

The coach came to a sudden stop as they arrived at their destination, causing everyone to slightly tilt out of their seats from the inertia.

“Come, cápitan! We must hurry!” Iliana exclaimed as she hopped out of the carriage, not even bothering to wait for her cousin or the Captain.

Connor grumbled; he was annoyed at all the hastiness and interruptions that have happened so far. Shaking his head, he stepped out of the coach and helped Nilda down by holding her hand as she made her exit. “Gracias, señor,” she thanked, smiling.

“You are welcome,” Connor said.

They had arrived in front of a petite chateau; it seemed less grand than the Silva Estate. Nevertheless, it was quaint and pretty, having the stylistic influences of Mediterranean architecture. Iliana went up to the door and knocked on it, shouting, “Tere! Trini! It’s me, Iliana! I am here with my cousin and another guest!”

The door was opened by the madam of the house, who had a surprised look on her face. She had an ornate red shawl wrapped around her head, forming a makeshift hood. Her dark hair was tied into a simple braid and her body was outfitted in a modest green dress. “Oh, Iliana, what are you doing out here? Isn’t it dinner time? Shouldn’t you be at the military ball right now?”

“I can explain it all to you later, señora. Right now, I need to see your daughters—it’s important,” Iliana urged.

“Alright then, come inside,” Úrsula said, gesturing everyone to come in.

The Captain spent most of his time waiting in the drawing room of Úrsula’s house, twiddling his fingers as he waited for the girls to get dressed. The madam entertained him for the time being by asking him who he was, where he was from and what he was here for. Connor explained everything to her, from what his mission objectives were, to how he was set on eliminating all his Templar targets in the north,  and towhat Emilio told him.

“Well then, cápitan, you will be hard-pressed to know that I am a member of the Spanish Brotherhood—Spanish Colonial Brotherhood, to be exact,” Úrsula proclaimed.

Connor gaped, shocked once again to discover the unexpected. “Does everyone around here keep so many secrets?”

The madam chuckled; she went over to Connor and showed him the tell-tale branding on her left finger. “Iliana and Nilda must have told you that they learned their craft from Rosa and her descendants. That is true. However, I am the one who perfected it for them. I taught them and my daughters the art of dance and how it can be used for more than just entertainment.”

“I see…hmm…interesting…” Connor remarked as he rubbed his chin.

Úrsula smirked then started pacing around the room. “Body language is a powerful weapon. The messages that one can convey through sheer movement are enticing. They call out to our souls, our instincts. No matter how refined a dance, its undertones are enough to seduce any unwitting citizen.”

“I thought obscene dances were banned by the Spanish crown.”

“I do not teach my girls the dances of the lower class and prostitutes. I teach them dances that are approved by the nobility. However, I push it as far as I can while still being able to stay within appropriate limits. Dancing is a useful tool and can be used as a distraction—something an assassin like you will need. Combine that with the trade secrets of the Rosa in Fiore and you get something deadly.”

“So a seductress, I presume?”

“Indeed. It is enough to put any poor fool under a spell, especially with the sentinels and Templar guests you’ll be dealing with tonight.”

The madam sauntered towards the fireplace and gazed up at an elaborate shield that hung above it. “The Spanish branch of the Brotherhood had suffered a lot after the Renaissance ended. However, two centuries later we were able to reform and establish a decent presence here in the Americas. We are alive and well and have maintained close ties to the Spanish royal family and other noble houses,” she stated; she pointed to the crest and said, “You see this crest here, señor? It is the insignia of the Spanish Colonial Brotherhood.”

“I see,” Connor remarked, nodding. “I did not know there were also other Brothers out there, especially in the southern colonies.”

Úrsula smiled wryly. “We’ve been here in the Americas longer than your Brotherhood of the north, having our start back in 1503 when the Italian Assassins obtained Piri Reis’s map of the New World. However, the headquarters back on the motherland goes back even further, ever since the famous Ezio Auditore intervened back in 1491 to help out Luis de Santángel and the rest of the struggling Spanish branch. He has come a long way in reforming our Brotherhood through the Renaissance times. We owe our survival to him.”

“My mentor has told me a lot about him,” Connor mentioned.

“Oh, you mean Achilles? How has he been doing lately? I heard that the American branch was nearly destroyed and is now struggling to rebuild,” Úrsula commented, frowning and shaking her head.

“Yes, unfortunately. We have been tasked to liberate the northern colonies from Templar influence.”

“That’s good. If that is the case then I don’t know why Emilio didn’t just send one of our own to dispatch Lieutenant McDougall. You seem to have enough on your hands already in dealing with the Templars up north—you don’t need any more hassle down here!”

“Well, actually, I am here for more than just business with the Silva family. I would also like to secure more trade routes to the Caribbean. Plus, I have major involvement in the Revolutionary War, which is at a pivotal point right now. Once this is all over, I would like to know if I can establish a trade route from Puerto Rico to my homestead, especially since your Brotherhood is here.”

“Of course, señor. We will be happy to help you out anytime—” she stepped away from the fireplace and strode over to where the Captain was sitting. Kneeling down, she muttered, “Listen, Connor. After you have dealt with all that Brother Achilles has told you to finish, you must rest for a while. Take that time to rebuild the American Brotherhood. You have _less than twenty members_ in your branch right now! At this point, it does not seem like it would be able to last any longer. So you must rest and regroup. Only then can you accomplish whatever else it is that fate has put upon you.” She released a nervous breath then put her hands on Connor’s, eliciting him to flinch. “Señor, if you do not mind, I would like to pray for you. I sense trouble up ahead, especially with what you told me about your father and his cronies—I would also like to pray for the future of the American branch.”

Connor dropped his jaw, speechless. Suddenly, he did not feel so bothered anymore by Úrsula’s touching of his hands. “Of course, ma’am. I would be honored,” he murmured, his expression softening.

The madam smiled then mumbled, “Alright then. Let’s bow our head and pray.”

Connor did as he was told, bowing his head and closing his eyes as Úrsula uttered a prayer. She was speaking in tongues, and Connor could not understand what she was saying. But he had faith that the spirits’ blessing were upon him, and that he would be able to accomplish his duties and succeed in his future endeavors.

* * *

“Oh my, that sounds intense,” Iliana interjected; she was lying on her side now, completely relaxed as the tale unfolded further.

“Yeah…” Ratonhnhaké:ton mumbled; he had to stop his narration for a moment as he made himself even more comfortable on the rug. “I guess it is a small world once you find other Brothers out there—especially those who are not assassins but support the Brotherhood nonetheless.”

“It’s funny how they all seem to be connected to Ezio in a way,” Iliana pointed out.

“Well, if you go back even further, it would be an assassin named Altaïr,” Ratonhnhaké:ton commented, smirking. “Anyway, after that, what happened was…”

* * *

As the madam finished praying, four girls appeared and announced, “We’re finished!”

Úrsula stood up from her spot and turned around. Upon seeing the girls newly dressed, she went over to their spot and hugged each of them. “¡Maravilloso! ¡Magnífico!” she exclaimed, beaming.

“¡Gracias!” each of the maidens bellowed.

Rising from his seat, the Captain strolled towards the women’s location, his mouth agape. He had yet to meet the two new girls, whom he assumed to be Úrsula’s daughters. They were twins, sporting the same chestnut her as their mother. They had pretty green eyes and smiles that spoke of sweetness. However, they looked plain compared to Iliana. The noblewoman especially looked stunning; she wore a scarlet flamenco dress that hugged the curves of her body. It stood out from the others, whom all wore black. Her ebony hair was tied back in a slick bun, and she wore earrings that matched her attire. The make-up she had on was a little more dramatic this time, with neutral eye shadow highlighting her brown eyes and the rouge on her lips complimenting her olive skin.

“Is that the gentleman you told us about?” one of the sisters whispered into Iliana’s ear.

“Yes, that’s him,” Iliana whispered back.

“You were right—he is so guapo **[9]**,” the other sister whispered.

The girls giggled, making Connor confused. He simply scratched his head and shrugged.

“Teresa, Trinidad, meet our fellow asesino, Brother Connor. Brother, meet my daughters, Teresa—” she gestured her hand to the young woman on the left, then gestured to the one on the right—“and Trinidad.”

“Buenas noches, hermano,” the twins greeted in unison.

“Good evening to you, ladies,” Connor said, tipping his hat off.

Úrsula nodded her head and smiled. “So, I assume you are all ready to go then?”

“Sí, madre,” the twins voiced.

“Sí, señora,” Iliana and Nilda spoke.

“Good,” the madam uttered. She motioned for Connor and the ladies to follow her as she exited the room. She escorted them to the front door and waited for all the ladies to step out. Once they were outside, she turned to Connor and said, “Take care of all my girls, señor. I want them to come back unharmed.”

“I promise,” the Captain assured. Just as he was about to step out, Úrsula grabbed his hand, yanking him closer to her. She had a serious look on her face and solemnly declared, “Connor, you will become a wonderful Mentor to the future assassins of America someday—I am sure of it.”

Blinking, Connor murmured, “Thank you, ma’am—I highly appreciate all of your insights.”

Úrsula smiled for a bit then resumed her solemn expression, uttering, “Victoria para los Asesinos—‘Victory to the Assassins’, Connor…Victory to the Assassins.”

Connor stared at Úrsula for a long time, letting her statement sink in. Then, he susurrated, “Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.”

Úrsula smiled, and the assassin nodded in return. Tipping his hat off one last time, he turned on his heel and exited the house.

As the madam watched him and the ladies hop back into the coach, she could not help but feel sorrow in her heart. She could just sense that something bad was about to happen sometime in Connor’s future. So placing a hand over her heart, she whispered, “May Minerva’s blessing be with you.”

* * *

“Who’s Minerva?” Iliana questioned, cutting the flow of Ratonhnhaké:ton’s narration.

“I do not know. Perhaps I will find out someday—Úrsula did pray for me after all,” Ratonhnhaké:ton responded; there was a little sadness in his eyes, but he blinked it away and continued, “Once we had arrived at…”

* * *

“…Our location,” Connor rambled as he trotted towards another city block—“We must be careful to not make any mistakes.”

“Of _course_ , señor. What do you take us for, damsels in distress?” Nilda retorted.

Connor nearly hissed at her until he was intervened by Iliana. “We know what we’re doing, cápitan. Like I said, we have done this several times whenever the asesinos needed our help.”

The assassin sighed; he felt awkward to go around the city with four girls surrounding him. However, they insisted that it would keep him anonymous and less likely to get into trouble. Every time they walked, all eyes were on them as the city sentinels were on high alert this evening. Everywhere, Whitecoats watched them keenly—only to be dismissed by the ladies’ distractions.

“Do not to kill any of the guards here—only those who bear the Templar cross,” Trinidad warned. “Any killing of the Spanish Regiment is sure to cause an outbreak.”

“Noted,” Connor spoke; he had to admit that he felt quite relieved to be covered by these women, as he hadn’t ran into any trouble so far. It was definitely easier than having to summon his assassin recruits and pretend they were Redcoats taking him as hostage. The girls had done a great job so far of slipping him in and out of some streets that were closed off by the Whitecoats. However, he felt slightly disgusted by their cat calls.

“We are ready to poison anyone, anytime. Just tell us when to do it,” Teresa announced.

“How about now?” Connor muttered, irritated as they slipped past two more guards and was met with more whistles and hollers.

“Calm down, cápitan. Just ignore them—it is all part the game,” Iliana assured, glancing back at him and simpering. “We do not want to waste our poison after all.”

Connor merely grumbled; he could not help but feel a tad bit jealous that Iliana was getting all this attention. If he could, he would’ve just strangled the scumbags by now, although he did not want to break his anonymity.

He stared at her form, how her hips swayed in front of him whenever she walked. Her dress outlined her bottom quite well, and Connor swore he could’ve felt his breeches tighten a bit from ogling at it…he studied her frame, how the attire hugged her curves in all the right places to reveal a shapely, fine hour-glass figure.

“Are you alright cápitan?” Iliana asked, glancing back to look at him.

Connor immediately tore his gaze away from Iliana’s buttocks and stammered, “Y-yes—I am fine.” He felt so embarrassed that he could sense the temperature rising in his cheeks.

 “Good, just making sure. You have been quiet for a while now.”

“I was just…enjoying the city view, that is all.”

Iliana simpered then turned her attention back towards her surroundings.

The rest of the trek remained silent apart from the cat calls they received from the guards, of which the group ignored. The Captain took this time to observe the gorgeous Puerto Rican environment. The district lights of San Juan shined brightly, creating a romantic ambient amongst the Spanish architecture of the city. Everywhere, people hustled and bustled yet were cautious on staying away from the sections closed off by security. Despite the dreamy atmosphere, tension could be seen on everyone’s visage. Their forced smiles were nothing but a façade, a portent of what is to come.

Connor frowned; even the military ball he was at not too long ago was nothing but a ruse. In fact, this whole night felt like a simulacrum to him; the fate of the Revolution rests upon his hands now. If he failed to rescue Gálvez, failed to kill the Templars that held him hostage, then the colonies were surely doomed. Being an assassin was never easy, so it was nice to always have allies like Iliana and company around.

“We are almost there, señor,” Trinidad announced.

“Do you have your fake invitation ready?” Teresa asked.

“Yes, I do—” Connor took his invitation out from one of his pockets.

“Don’t forget your letter with the false information on it. McDougall will surely be asking for it in exchange for General Gálvez’s safety,” Nilda reminded him.

“Of course. I have it safe and sound in my pocket,” Connor said, patting one of his coat pockets.

They have reached their destination at last, stopping in front of the gates of the McDougall residence. The sentinels that stood watch glared at them.

“We are here to entertain tonight’s guests,” Iliana declared, placing her hands on her hips as if to show them that she was serious and not one to be messed with.

The watchmen glanced at each other, nodding and allowing the Iliana’s party into the residence.

The size of the McDougall house was larger than Señora Úrsula’s but not as big as the Silva Estate. Guards littered the mansion’s grounds and there were two more at the front door that Connor and his party had to deal with. However, Iliana took care of that by showing them his fake invitation.

“I don’t get why you’re travelling with this cholo **[10]** here or how he even managed to secure beautiful ladies like you,” one of the guards mentioned, smirking.

Iliana simply rolled her eyes and spat, “Just get us in, will you? We are simply here to do business.”

“Alright, my lady—” he opened the door and let the group in.

As the last of them entered, the other sentry hollered, “¡Oigan! ¿Vengan—a pasar la noche—con nosotros después de que hayan terminado, está bien? **[11]**”

The guards guffawed, making the women grimace in disgust.

“I will be _so_ glad when all of this is over,” Teresa muttered.

“No kidding,” Trinidad voiced.

They entered a great hall, where the atmosphere was tense. There were sentinels stationed at every portal and corner, where they watched the group like a hawk. However, they made no qualms about it as they pointed the party towards the dining hall.

The twins entered the room, leaving Connor behind with Iliana and her cousin.

“Don’t worry about them cápitan. They will buy us time by entertaining the guests. They will poison their food, but once they do, they will be out of here as soon as possible so as to not be detected,” Nilda stated.

“Nilda and I shall accompany you upstairs. We can distract the guards up there for as long as you need us to and then rejoin the twins downstairs. However, you are on your own from that point onward,” Iliana mentioned.

“I got this,” Connor proclaimed; he whirled around and began walking towards the grand staircase with the two ladies following him at his sides.

They went around the upper floors until they reached the corridor that led them to their target. As usual, there were to watchmen stationed at the entryway, and they glared at the trio that stood before them.

“Good luck in there,” Iliana whispered into Connor’s ear.

“Thank you,” he whispered back.

As the women distracted the guards, Connor was able to pass by easily. He could hear their conversation, and he smirked at what they talked about.

“Excuse me, señores, but my cousin and I are lost. We just got here but really need to take care of some personal business. We’d just like to know where the toilet room is.”

“The toilet room? Ah, it is over there. Follow us, madamas, we’ll escort you…”

As the sentries were whisked away, the assassin wasted no time in finding his Templar target and where the General was being held hostage.

* * *

“I think I shall stop here,” Ratonhnhaké:ton announced; he yawned and stretched his arms.

“That’s it?” Iliana questioned, furrowing her eyebrows and shrugging.

“I told you it was a long story. Of course, there is more but I am too tired right now to tell the rest.”

“Aww, but we were just getting to the good part!”

Ratonhnhaké:ton smirked. “So you believe me now then, about how we truly met?”

Simpering, Iliana gazed at the floor, tracing the rug designs with her finger. “It all sounds like a fairytale…myself being a Spanish noble and you the captain of a ship…I wish I lived that life.”

“But you have,” Ratonhnhaké:ton insisted.

A frown appeared on Iliana’s features as she thought about his magnificent retelling of her true past. She never would have dreamed of such things, especially in one where she knew her parents and was raised by them in wealthy environment. She never got to know who her parents were, for she was taken away from them and shipped here to the northern colonies for the slave trade. She figured that she was perhaps the illegitimate child of a White man and a Native woman, even—it was a vast contrast to the account that Ratonhnhaké:ton told her. It just seemed too good to be true that she grew up legitimate after all and lived such a privileged life. Her heart was heavy, and she exhaled a strained breath. If what Ratonhnhaké:ton said was true, then she wanted to know more. “Show me then,” she murmured.

“I will, once I get my hands on that Apple.”

“You mean the thing that keeps all of us under this spell? The golden object that King Washington always carries around, yes?”

“Yes—” the assassin rose from his comfortable spot, helping Iliana up. “This is why I must leave for Boston tomorrow. I have procrastinated long enough and cannot waste any more time.”

“You’re leaving? For how long? When will you be back?” Iliana asked, her face exhibiting worry.

“I am off to find a dear friend of mine to see where he went into hiding. If he insists that I stay with him there in Boston, I will decline—it is too dangerous to have both he and I present, and I do not want to waste money spending several nights at the city inns when I can come back here and rest for free.”

“So you will be back then?”

“Indeed. I shall make my repose here and plot between missions.”

“I see. Good luck then, and stay safe.”

“I promise.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton put out the fire in the fireplace while Iliana took their mugs and put them in the kitchen basin. He waited for her to finish washing the dishes. When she was done, he went over to her and rubbed the side of his arm.

“Uhm…uh…” he mumbled.

“What is it?” Iliana questioned.

He stared at his fingers and fumbled with them, nervous to ask her if she wanted to hold hands. “I…uh…uhm…”

Iliana flashed a quizzical look then shrugged. “Well, what?”

Sighing in aggravation, the gentleman decided to just settle his anxiety by grabbing her hand. “I…just…” he stammered, staring at her palm as he did not want to make eye contact with her.

Iliana glanced at the way he clutched her hand in his then looked back at his face. She had to cover her mouth with her other palm as she helplessly sniggered. “Of course, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she affirmed.

Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled stupidly, as if he were a child experiencing butterflies in his stomach. Taking a more confident hold of her hand, they walked out of the tavern with their fingers entwined. They stayed silent as they entered the inn and made their way up the staircase. Ratonhnhaké:ton  escorted the damsel to her room, and when they reached her door, he murmured, “Goodnight, konwakeri.”

“Goodnight, my dear,” Iliana mumbled; she kissed his forehead and slowly let go of his hand.

Ratonhnhaké:ton stayed there, watching the maiden enter her room until she shut the door and was completely out of his sight. He turned around and began heading towards his bedroom. A smirk formed upon his lips as he walked. He was glad to finally get that whole retelling of events out of his system, and even more glad to see that Iliana was becoming less doubtful as time moved on.

* * *

1 “I’m so glad to see you!” [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
2 “And I'm glad to see that you are enjoying this wonderful evening, dear.” [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
3 ‘Fixed Regiment of Puerto Rico’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
4 ‘Brigade General’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
5 “To hell with the Borgias and their descendants!” [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
6 gypsies/Romani [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
7 ‘Silly man’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
8 “Hurry! We have no time to lose!” [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
9 ‘handsome’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
10 Different from its meaning today (which is slang for a Mexican gangster), the word ‘cholo’ back then was an offensive term for someone who had pure or mixed indigenous American blood. [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
11 “Hey! Come—spend the night—with us after you’re done, alright?” [⇧ Return to paragraph]

* * *

Animus Database Entry

**The Fixed Regiment of Puerto Rico** was a military corps of Spaniards who were born on the lsland (criollos). According to the Spanish caste system of those times, _peninsulares_ were at the top, as they were ‘most pure’ in blood and were the most ‘untainted’ when it came to their European heritage. They were Spaniards who came straight from the Iberian Peninsula and have settled in the Americas. Their descendants whom who pure Iberian but were born in the colonies were called _criollos_ , and they were just under the _peninsulares_ in terms of social status. Below them would be the _mestizos_ , which would pretty much be our protagonists, Ratonhnhaké:ton and Iliana. The way that _mestizos_ had been treated in the Americas varied according to their wealth and culture of each colony. For a noblewoman like Iliana, she fared better than Ratonhnhaké:ton. As for **Luis de Santángel** , he is a real life historical figure and a character from some entertainment hodge podge that Abstergo made called [_Assassin’s Creed II: Discovery_](http://youtu.be/N4CW3raXRKE). He and Ezio aided each other when the Italian assassin was sent to Spain by Antonio de Magianis to help out the Spanish Brotherhood. In short, this game explores how the Assassins and Templars were able to cross over to the New World (aka 'the Americas'). Lastly, the [Caribbean Assassins](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Spanish_Colonial_Assassins) were the Brotherhood of Assassins located in the colonies of Spain in the New World. They were separate from the [Spanish Assassins](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Spanish_Assassins), separate from the [French Colonial Assassins](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/French_Colonial_Assassins) and the [13-Colonies branch](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Colonial_Assassins) of the Brotherhood. The reason for this is that the home base is different for each branch, with the Spanish Brotherhood’s guild being located in Barcelona, the French Colonial Brotherood’s headquarters being located in Louisana, and the Colonial Brotherhood's (the 13-Colonies one) base of operations being located in the Davenport Homestead. As for the Spanish Colonial Assassins, little is known about them although there are many more to uncover as we dive into the memories of Connor’s grandfather, Edward Kenway. I am assuming that their home base would be in the Caribbean, as this is where they first settled in the New World.

_(These professional tips have been brought to you by Shaun Hastings)_

 

 

_ _

_**Animus Hack:** Portrait of Iliana, date unknown  
_ (art by David Munoz Vasquez)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Update 2014:** So I just found out that _Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag_ would feature my ‘dancers’ idea but in a slightly [different fashion](http://www.polygon.com/2013/5/3/4296282/assassins-creed-4-black-flag-story-of-sex-and-repentance-outlined). I honestly didn’t know about any of this until a few days later after I finished writing this chapter…I nearly got a heart attack when I found out the coincidences lol. Hm, well it seems like my theories about Edward Kenway being a brothel man were also correct, though (I wrote a vignette about it along with his interactions with young Ratonhnhaké:ton, and you can read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1862916). It’s a general piece though; nothing explicit).
> 
> At this point I have yet to finish AC4 Black Flag, so if it showcases a different concept of the Brotherhood than from how I described them in my fan fic, then I don’t know what to do. :/ I’d hate to have to retcon everything I’ve written so far since I did a crap ton of research just to get things right.
> 
> By the way, Ezio had 4 games, not 3. Many people forget about AC2: Discovery as it as a hand-held game (and it seems like the fanbase doesn’t care all that much for hand-helds). Meanwhile, Connor only gets 1 game. *cries*
> 
> Honestly though, I had a great time writing this chapter as I was also inspired by AC2 and AC: Brotherhood (obviously). In fact, I honestly wouldn’t mind if we get an “Assassin’s Creed III: Brotherhood” game featuring Connor.
> 
> So all those who’ve been saying that Connor’s story is over and that he doesn’t need a sequel: you should not so easily dismiss such possibilities. Connor’s story being over after AC3 is a lie—heck, even Señora Úrsula knows that’s a lie. ;) She knows that he will go on to become a great Master Assassin someday and rebuild the Colonial brotherhood.  
> Speaking of Señora Úrsula, in case if anyone is wondering: yes, I did model her after Signora Paola from AC2. I think that whatever future endeavors Connor has, he is going to need the guidance of other Brothers out there (especially since Achilles dies), much like how Signora Paola, Sister Teodora, Uncle Mario etc. has guided Ezio throughout the decades. Thus, my OC Úrsula was born.
> 
> So I hope I’ve done well what Ubisoft didn’t do. :/ But hey, if they ever need ideas for Connor sequel then they are more than welcome to use my OC. ;)


	7. Marguerite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is slight anachronism in this chapter, mainly the references to a certain work of literature.

The assassin left the moment the sun had risen. He had been gone all day, leaving Iliana all to her lonesome.

She sat at an empty table and played with the ties of the red shawl wrapped around her head. She was bored from not having much to do since business today was slower than usual. She sighed; she didn’t know that she would miss Ratonhnhaké:ton this much already. There had not been a day in which she went about doing her business without at least bumping into him in one way or another. She found it slightly annoying at first, how he adamantly courted her. Now, however, she felt flattered by it and appreciated how he had been unwavering in his affections.

She released another strained breath; had she taken him for granted? For three weeks straight, she saw him every single day. So it felt strange to her to go throughout this whole afternoon without seeing him at least once.

Drumming her fingers on the table, she thought back to their first week together. She reminisced how strange the man was whenever he would speak to her about nonsensical things. She didn’t believe him back then, but that didn’t stop him from wooing her. Everything seemed to have changed for the better ever since that one fateful afternoon picnic. She became less weary and suspicious of him as time passed by, even growing accustomed to his appearance.

She chuckled; she remembered how she was scared of him at first, afraid that he would harm her. He walked around dressed as though he was one that practiced unspeakable things.

Iliana knitted her eyebrows; she called him a ‘brujo’ back then as he did look like one of those sorcerers she was weary about. She recalled growing up hearing the tales of evil witches and wizards, of those who dabbled in black magic. The colonists believed that practitioners dressed in black and flew on broomsticks. However, some of the indigenous and African peoples she got shipped with over to the northern colonies thought otherwise.

 _“Beware of those who have the appearance of the beast,”_ she remembered being told.

Iliana never saw her slave mates ever again ever since Oliver and Corinne bought her freedom. However, the words of her mates remained with her throughout her life, becoming a driving force in her beliefs.

However, Ratonhnhaké:ton proved himself to be harmless, promising that he would protect her and never hurt her. Iliana felt a little guilty for judging him at first. However, she recalled the man saying that he was a limikkin, a ‘skin-walker’. She did not fully know what that meant, although she generally understood that it meant he was not one to be messed with. He had powers and abilities that were stronger than a mere witch’s—this he told her as well.

Despite his proclamation, she had never seen him practice such sorcery. Little did she know, however, that today was just the beginning, for the skin-walker was experiencing some side effects from his dabbling with the Willow tea…

* * *

“Tell me where Benjamin Franklin is!” Ratonhnhaké:ton roared; he backed the courier into a corner and grappled him by the collar, face twisting to a feral expression.

“I—I don’t know sir, I-I-I don’t know anything!” the courier cried as he exhibited panic.

“Yes you do!” the skin-walker growled, shoving the courier up the wall and closing the space between them. Squinting, he spat, “I saw you marching off with something in your hands—a letter, one that tells of Franklin’s whereabouts.”

The courier gulped. “He—he’s ran off to the town hall to attend a meeting,” he lied.

Ratonhnhaké:ton glared at him for a long time. Roughly releasing the man, he snarled, “Get out of my sight.”

The courier quickly nodded his head, still afraid of what the Mohawk man might do to him. Without one last glance, he spun around and scurried away as fast as possible, to a place where he was free from harm.

The skin-walker sighed; he should’ve been glad to have found Kanen'tó:kon earlier in the day. However, their reunion was cut short when Samuel Adams intercepted to warn them about Franklin. Nevertheless, Ratonhnhaké:ton was relieved to know that Kanen had been taking refuge in a safe house provided to him by Sam.

Just as Ratonhnhaké:ton was about to resume walking, he felt a sharp pain enter his head. He hunched over, clutching his temples as he entered a hallucinatory episode.

 _“Why have you disobeyed me, my son!?”_ his mother yelled, her speech muffled yet causing too much reverberation in his ears.

“I did not disobey you, istá,” Ratonhnhaké:ton uttered weakly, the pain in his head increasing.

 _“How **dare** you! You, the son of a man of violence— **you should have known!** ” _Ziio screeched, her voice so loud that it hurt Ratonhnhaké:ton’s ears. _“This will affect you **far more** than anyone else— **you should have not drunk!** ”_

“No—no—istá…” the skin-walker mumbled; it was all too much for him to bear that he fell to the ground.

The voice of his mother eroded as his mind completely blacked out. He lay there, unconscious for several minutes until he was able to get back on his feet again.

“Is..istá…?” Ratnonhaké:ton spoke, mouth agape. He scratched his temple; he could’ve sworn that he heard his mother speaking into his ear. Not being able to tell apart hallucination from reality, he wondered about, desperate to search for Ziio.

“Ratnonhaké:ton!” someone hollered.

The Mohawk spun around to see who called out to him. Upon noticing who it was, he exclaimed, “Kanen'tó:kon! What are you doing here?”

“Samuel Adams had me go around town to look for information on Franklin as well,” Kanen stated; he walked closer to his friend’s location—“Although I have been unsuccessful in my gathering of intelligence.”

“You need not worry, Kanen'tó:kon, for I have news on Franklin’s whereabouts,” Ratnonhaké:ton replied. “He is at the town hall right now, and I shall go over there and eavesdrop before I capture him.”

“I shall go with you then,” Kanen said.

“No, it is too dangerous to have the two of us wander around at once,” Ratnonhaké:ton warned.

Kanen paused for a minute; he was about to protest but then thought carefully about his friend’s words. “Hm. You are right…already have many eyes been laid upon me ever since I came to this place, and they have not been all too friendly.”

“It is safer for both of us to work one at a time. Go back to the safe house and tell Adams that I have found Franklin.”

“Very well, then,” Kanen responded; he was about to turn around and leave until he was reminded of something. “Ratnonhaké:ton…earlier, I heard you calling out for your mother. Are you…alright, my friend?”

The skin-walker stared at the ground and pressed his lips together. “I…heard her. She was speaking to me, as if she were right in front of me…next to me…all around me…she is alive, Kanen'tó:kon, but she did not sound too happy.”

Kanen knitted his eyebrows, unsure of how to answer. “But she passed away, remember? It is impossible for her to be here.”

“No, Kanen'tó:kon! She is alive, I swear!” Ratnonhaké:ton insisted; he clutched his temples again and started traipsing around.

“Ratnonhaké:ton…I do not think you are in the best spirits right now to look for Franklin,” Kanen commented, worry washing over him. “You should go back to Adams and rest—I will go and search the town hall for you.”

“Kanen'tó:kon, we must search for my mother as well. She is hiding somewhere—we just have to find her!”

“Ratnonhaké:ton…are you really sure that you saw her?”

The skin-walker blinked. “I shut my eyes because her anger was too much to bear—but I am sure that I heard her—she was shouting into my ears, even!”

Kanen shook his head and frowned. “You were simply hearing things, Ratnonhaké:ton.”

“How do you know? You were not here to witness my mother’s wrath!” Ratnonhaké:ton hissed; he was becoming irritated and impatient.

Sighing, Kanen grabbed Ratnonhaké:ton’s hand and started dragging him along. “I must take you back to Adams—something is not right with you, and I am worried.”

Ratnonhaké:ton yanked his hand away from Kanen’s grip. “No! I have to go look for my mother— _you_ should stay with Adams!”

Kanen exhaled another stressed breath. This was going to be hard for him, just to have his stubborn friend back to the safe house and have him realize that he was just hallucinating.

* * *

Iliana’s face brightened when she noticed that someone entered the pub.

“Hé là, red riding hood,” Norris greeted playfully, grinning. “So where’s your big bad wolf? Isn’t he usually with you?”

Iliana rolled her eyes and muttered, “He left at dawn for Boston.”

“Ah, I see.” Norris strolled over to where the lady was sitting and took his seat across from her. “When will he be coming back?”

Iliana frowned. “I do not know,” she murmured, gazing at the floor.

“Ne vous inquiétez pas **[1]**, Iliana” Norris assured her. “He has been good lately with keeping our village protected—I am sure he would make it back here safely.”

The woman smiled wryly. “Thank you, Norris. I appreciate your concern.” Rising from her seat, she went to the bar and asked out loud, “So—what drink do you want for today?”

“A hearty dinner with fine wine is nice,” Norris stated.

Iliana shook her head and smirked. “I asked if you wanted a drink, not a meal.”

“Oui, but it is dinner, no? So I am hungry and would like a meal with my drink.”

“Dinner? But it’s still too early for dinner—it’s only four in the afternoon.”

“Madame, I have been working all day to the point where I skipped lunch. I would like dinner now, s'il vous plaît.”

“Well, Corinne is out doing something else so she can’t cook. But since you’re the only customer here right now, I can make you something. What do you want?”

“I am not too picky right now on what to order. Just give me something that is big and fulfilling!” Norris chirped, grinning.

The barmaid chuckled. “Alright, then. I’ll make you a meat pie.” As she began to make Norris’s early dinner, she queried, “So, how have you and Myriam been doing lately?”

“Oh, she has been kind to me,” Norris responded, beaming. “She is a very good wife…one day, I came home so dirty from all the mining I’ve done. Usually, I would have to scrub myself, but she offered to help clean me up and give me a nice massage, even!”

Iliana smiled. “Aw, how sweet of her!” she commented as she gathered some ingredients in her hands and began to make Norris’s pie.

“Oui, she’s definitely a keeper!” Norris exclaimed, the smile on his face widening to a grin. As he made himself more comfortable on the chair, he inquired, “So, I heard that Ratonhnhaké:ton is going around and calling you ‘Marguerite’ now, eh?”

“Marguerite?” the barmaid questioned, raising a brow.

“Oui, it is French for ‘daisy’,” Norris stated matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Iliana muttered; she roughly stuffed some fillings into the dough she just made then spoke, “Only he can call me that.”

The Frenchman chuckled. “I once heard of an epic tale where a man fell in love with a woman named ‘Marguerite’. Or shall I say—lust? Marguerite was a very beautiful, innocent maiden. It was said that she looked and acted awfully similar to the man’s former love—Helena—so, he seduced her.”

Iliana furrowed her eyebrows and scratched her temple. “You mean, Goethe's ‘Faust’?”

“Oui, I think that was the name of the epic.”

“Uhm, I think you have the story all wrong…it was the other way around—Faust seduced Marguerite but then fell in love with _Helen_ of Troy later on.”

Norris merely shrugged. “Do not blame me, madame, for I am illiterate after all. So my memory of an oral narration would be faulty. Ah, but your name, Iliana…is it not the Spanish variant of ‘Helena’, which in turn is a variant of ‘Helen’?”

The barmaid stopped what she was doing and glared at Norris. “…Are you trying to say that Ratonhnhaké:ton is Faust?”

Norris chuckled. “No. I just found the coincidence amusing, that’s all. Besides, he told me that the Mohawk word for Marguerite was ‘Konwakeri’ as well. Marguerite, Daisy, Konwakeri, Gretchen…it is all the same, no matter what language you speak.”

Illiana shook her head and sighed. “Whatever. Ratonhnhaké:ton has been a good man so far—I doubt he would be the type to make a deal with the Devil.”

* * *

“My God! He made a deal with the Devil drinking that—that tea thing,” Sam Adams exclaimed, shocked from what Kanen'tó:kon had just told him about Ratonhnhaké:ton’s condition.

Kanen shook his head in pity. “Ziio tried to warn him. It is bad medicine, I tell you. Yet the Clan Mother insisted that he drink it.”

Sam made a ‘tsk tsk’ sound as he gazed upon the poor, bedridden Mohawk warrior. In regards to what happened earlier, Kanen managed to restrain him by knocking him out since he had enough of him flailing about and trying to escape his grasp. So there he lay, resting peacefully upon the mattress.

“As long as we remind him that he is just hearing things, it should be no problem,” Kanen stated.

“Well, I hope so…we can’t have a mad man running around town, especially one that’s dressed the way he is. Already are the Bluecoats calling him a ‘savage’,” Sam remarked.

Kanen scratched the back of his head. “Ratonhnhaké:ton will be fine. I will go and look for Franklin in his absence.”

Suddenly, the assassin stirred in his sleep, mumbling something incomprehensible that Sam and Kanen had to strain their ears to hear.

“Hel…ele…ili…Ilium?” Sam uttered, perplexed.

Kanen simply shrugged; he attempted to get a better listening of what the man was trying to say by leaning closer.

“Iliana,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mumbled. “Must…see…her…”

Kanen turned his attention towards Franklin, who mirrored his previous movements by shrugging.

“I wonder who she is,” Kanen said as he rubbed his chin with his hand.

* * *

It was almost midnight now, and Iliana was getting worried that Ratonhnhaké:ton wasn’t back yet. There was a concerned look on her face as she sat up from her laying position on her bed. She twisted her fingers and frowned.

“Come back soon, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she whispered.

Sighing, she tried to focus on more positive thoughts instead. Going back to all the things she discussed with Norris in the tavern, she realized how much she had come to trust Ratonhnhaké:ton over time, eventually getting accustomed to the wolfish attire he wore every day. She even found it attractive, how he sauntered around with his adorable wolf pelt, half-naked.

Iliana blushed; she never gave much thought to Ratonhnhaké:ton’s torso until now. It was usually covered with other fashion items, but there was still much left to the imagination, enough to make her ogle at it. Sometimes she would see his nipples slip through, and it would make her simper and cover her mouth. Then there was his taut abs and broad, chiseled back. It was indeed a highly masculine sight to behold, and Iliana smacked her lips at the thought.

“Wait, no—” she blinked and vigorously shook her head. How could she think of such things?

She exhaled an irritated breath; sometimes, she felt like she was being tempted. All of a sudden, an idea dawned upon her. Smirking, she hopped out of bed and rushed to her door, opening it and shutting it loudly as she exited her room and made her way towards Ratonhnhaké:ton’s.

When she reached his room, she shut the door tight and dashed to his bed. She plumped onto it and lay sprawled, breathing in residues of the Mohawk warrior’s scent on the pillows. The silliest smile on her face appeared as the essence brought her back to all the precious moments they shared. Sighing once more, she turned her head to the side, noticing that there was something on the night stand. Picking it up, she saw that it was a wilted daisy and assumed that it was the one she put in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s ear a while back when they had their picnic. She giggled; she was surprised to have discovered that he still kept it and was flattered, even.

She began to pluck the petals, uttering something whenever she did so.

“He loves me, he loves me not…he loves me, he loves me not…” she continued uttering those phrases until she came to the last petal. Simpering, she murmured, “He loves me.”

She chortled, letting the daisy petals fall all over her torso as she basked in her amusement. Feeling better now, she closed her eyes, mind drifting away as she fell into slumber.

* * *

It was three hours past midnight when Ratonhnhaké:ton came home.  He hunched over as he climbed the stairs of the inn, worn from today’s events. He had his first ever hallucinatory episode, and it was definitely an unpleasant one. He was disappointed to find out that he was only hearing voices and to have Kanen remind him that Ziio was no longer here. It made him distraught to realize that he would never get his mother back. Regardless, he had accepted it knew what to do whenever her spirit would berate him again.

Even more disappointing, however, was that the intelligence they had gathered on Franklin was incorrect. They wasted a whole day on searching for this bloke—only to find out that he was not in the town hall at all—so they had to start all over again.

The assassin grumbled; Sam and Kanen insisted that he go back to the settlement and leave the rest of the task to them, for he was not in the best condition right now to continue his mission. They were also worried about him pining for Iliana in his nap, and so they urged him to go check up on her.

As Ratonhnhaké:ton reached the second floor, he lazily dragged his feet across the corridor. He was too tired to do anything and really just wanted some sleep. Sighing, he gazed at the daisy crown he held in his hand; he was going to drop this off to Iliana’s room but decided to just do that tomorrow morning. He smiled wryly; he had some time earlier in the night to make this crown for her. The daises were white instead of red this time as Ratonhnhaké:tonwanted to express just how virtuous his beloved was and how much he adored her.

As he came to his room, however, he was shocked to find Iliana sleeping on his bed. Going closer to her, he noticed how there were flower petals scattered all over her form as she rested peacefully. Many of them got caught in her flowing, ebony hair, making her look quite serene.

He scratched his head, wondering where the petals came from. It never came to him that he had left the daisy from their picnic to wilt and die on his nightstand all this time. Shrugging, he placed the flower tiara down on the stand then brushed his fingers through Iliana’s hair. She had the face of an angel as she slept, and Ratonhnhaké:ton marveled at the sight. He gently kissed her forehead and carefully pulled the blanket over her. “Kwah tokén:'en sén:ta'wh **[2]**, konwakeri,” he whispered.

 

Not wanting to be rude, he grabbed the vacant pillow from his bed and plopped it on the floor next to the maiden. Before he could get some rest, he removed all weapons and miscellaneous items that were on him, placing them onto an armrest that occupied a corner of his room. He removed his wolf pelt along with his hair tie and combed his fingers through his tresses. Setting those on top of the rest of his items, he turned around and walked back to where he made his makeshift bed for the night. He made himself comfortable on the ground, laying down and resting his head on the pillow. Turning to face Iliana, he gazed at her—or at least what he could see of her from his vantage point. He never took his eyes away from her, even when his eyelids were getting heavy. She was the last thing he saw before sleep overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 ‘Do not worry’ in French [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 2 ‘Have a good sleep, daisy’ in Mohawk [⇧ Return to paragraph]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Yes, yes I know that Goethe’s _Faust_ was written in the 1800s, ahead of the AC3 timeline. But I just had to make a reference to hit, hence the anachronism. Let’s just say that Goethe wrote it early in this Tyranny AU timeline. ;P In fact, let me disclose a bit of commentary here…
> 
> Back then when this was still a Connor/reader fic, I was thinking about having Ratonhnhaké:ton give *you, the reader* a nickname so that I didn’t have to keep on using ‘you’ all the time. :/ It’s hard for Ratonhnhaké:ton to call the reader by her name if said reader’s name wasn’t—say, ‘Stacy’, for example.
> 
> I looked up Mohawk words on what can be used as appropriate nicknames that weren’t too long or hard to pronounce. I wanted to use ‘rose’ at first, but the Mohawk word for that (‘teiohnionwaron:ton otsi:tsa’) sounded longer than Ratonhnhaké:ton’s name aha…It seemed too technical and just not as romantic as ‘konwakeri’, so yeah.
> 
> Also, when I was picking a name for my OC, I was debating between ‘Angela’, ‘Angelina’ and ‘Helena’. The Angela name and its variant were just things I came up with on the spot. The Helena one, however…I got it from listening to Kamelot’s concept albums ([Epica](http://youtu.be/4qKr6qoPkG4) and [The Black Halo](http://youtu.be/HLR5k8jedyc); both are loose retellings of Goethe’s Faust) lol. As I was reading the lyrics, I thought, “Hey this Helena stuff isn’t so bad—I can make a connection with it to my fan fic.”
> 
> I gave her the name ‘Iliana’ as it is the Spanish variant of Helena, and I liked the spelling a lot better than the other variants (Ileana, Elena, etc.)
> 
> I’m not going to have my fan fic be an entire reference to Faust, however, as that is just too complicated (Faust II is already difficult to read as it its).
> 
> I just wanted to give my OC a meaningful name so as to match the Assassin’s Creed writers’ tendency to give their characters some meaningful names.


	8. Ardour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just pure fluff, so as to set up for what is about to come next chapter…

liana awoke, surprised to find herself at an unfamiliar location. Glancing at her surroundings, she noticed that she had slept on Ratonhnhaké:ton’s bed and simpered at the thought. Apparently, she got so tired from waiting for her beloved to return that she fell asleep. The smile on her lips turned into a frown, for she still hadn’t seen him. Rising from the bed, she nearly jumped when she saw that the assassin was snoozing on the floor. She scooted closer to him and crouched; she heard him snore lightly, the sounds making her chortle. _How cute,_ she thought.

She stood back up and was about to exit the room until she saw something on the night stand that wasn’t there before. Walking over to it, she picked up the object. “A flower crown?” she uttered, examining the item attentively. She peered at the gentleman sleeping on the floor then back to the crown. “Aww, he shouldn’t have,” she murmured, grinning. She kissed him lightly on the forehead.

Ratonhnahké:ton had felt Iliana’s lips press against his skin. He groaned, waking up from his slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he smiled when he found that the first thing he woke up to this morning was the sight of an angel. “Good morning, konwakeri,” he murmured.

The maiden snickered. “It’s almost lunch time…a bit too late for good mornings,” she remarked, smirking.

“I have been asleep for that long?” Ratonhnhaké:ton questioned. As he stretched and yawned, a sly idea came to him. He snatched the damsel by the waist and yanked her towards him. She squeaked as she landed on top of him, blinking several times and gawking. She couldn’t help but giggle as she had never been this close to him before. She pecked him then whispered, “Thank you for the flower crown.”

“You are welcome,” he murmured, kissing her cheek.

Grinning, Iliana rested her head against the Mohawk warrior’s strong chest. She sighed, loving how broad and defined he was. One hand grazed his shoulder while the other brushed his oblique, feeling the contours of all his muscle fibers. In turn, Ratonhnahké:ton caressed her sides and the small of her back, delighting in the way her form curved in all the right places.

Iliana’s hand grazed up his sides, eventually landing on his pecs. She felt tempted to touch his bare nipple, tracing circles around it but never on it.

“You can touch it if you want,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mentioned straightforwardly, as if she had done this before and he had no qualms about it.

Iliana gave him a curious look. Smirking, she teased the dark chocolate bud with her index finger, watching it harden under her touch. The smug smile on her face broadened to a grin, and she began to roll the erect bud between her thumb and forefinger.

She heard her man groan; in response, he dared to go lower and stroke her soft bottom. She gasped, surprised at his petting although she didn’t make a big deal about it as he did not grope her offensively. In fact, she liked how he brushed his palms across her plump surface. Pinching his nipple in amusement, she chewed on her lower lip as if to hide her grin.

Leering, Ratonhnhaké:ton purred, “You better stop doing that.”

Iliana chuckled and susurrated, “Only if you stop touching my culo. **[1]**”

He smirked; he shifted her up so that he could claim her mouth, his lips tugging on hers and suckling them. Iliana squirmed, holding him tight as she returned the favor.

They stayed like that for several minutes, caressing each other until they had enough. Iliana broke the silence by suggesting, “Ratonhnhaké:ton, spend time with me.”

“But…I already am.”

“No, I mean _spend time_ with me. You were gone for all of yesterday, and there really hasn’t been a time where you’ve dedicated an entire day just to me.”

“Oh—well, what do you have in mind?”

Iliana grinned. “Since it’s almost lunch time, I can teach you how to cook.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton gave her a quizzical look. “I know how to cook.”

“Yes, when you’re out in the wilderness. But you don’t know how to make colonial foods, do you?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton hesitated; she had a point. He only knew how to grill basics over a fire camp—such as fish, deer meat, rabbit meat, and so on.  “No, I do not,” he answered.

“I thought so. Well, I could teach you—or perhaps I’ll just cook you some myself and just teach you how to bake,” Iliana replied, beaming.

“What are you getting at?”

“Make apple pie with me—or cookies—I think I’m in the mood for some cookies.”

The Mohawk scratched his head; he was baffled and slightly annoyed by her flightiness. “Uhm…alright then…”

“After that, we can sew.”

“S-sew?”

“Why yes—I love doing some needlework on my free time. Ellen taught me,” Iliana mentioned. Grinning, she continued, “I have a quilting project that is a work in progress. Maybe you can help me out.”

“Uhm, I do not think I can sew.”

“I can help you.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton pressed his lips, reluctant for a moment. He remembered the first time she tried to get him to bake some pastries with her, and it did not go well. Same with the needling…however, every time he engaged in her hobbies, it always ended with her being highly amused. That in itself was enough of a reward for him to spend some quality time with her. So shrugging, he said, “Well, it will not hurt to try again.”

Iliana raised a brow. “Again?”

“Oh—uhh…I…I have…done this before.”

“Oh?”

“W-with you, of course.”

“Really now?” Iliana questioned; she flashed another curious expression then said, “I take it that you mean the memories about the real ‘us’.”

“Yes, that is what I mean,” Ratonhnhaké:ton said. He sighed; he had a feeling that this won’t go well for him again.

“How did it go?”

“Well…”

* * *

A bunch of blokes huddled at a table inside the tavern began snickering at the poor gentleman cornered at the kitchen by Iliana.

“Are you mad!? You almost could’ve burnt this entire house down!” the Latina yelled angrily; she raised her rolling pin up high, as if she were about to hit Ratonhnhaké:ton.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck; he knew that this would go sour the minute she asked him to help her bake pastries. He stared stupidly at the tray of scorched cookies, not proud at all of his work.

“Poor lad ‘as to deal with the wrath of a woman,” Godfrey remarked in a pitiful manner, yet his visage said otherwise. He was chewing on his lip, as if to hold back laughter.

“Eh, he’ll learn…once he’s married, that is,” Norris mentioned, smirking. “Myriam was like that for a while until I managed to get a hang of things.”

 “¡Ay Dios mío, eres un tonto!” Iliana shouted, rage apparent in her demeanor.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was helpless; he basically stood there and twiddled with this thumbs, staring at the floor as he did not want to look at the woman. He didn’t understand what she just said, but he knew she was mad and didn’t like it when she would criticize him like this.

The atmosphere in the pub was getting awkward as the spectators watched the couple bicker. The boys at the table knew they should leave and give the two some space, but half of them hadn’t even finished their meal yet. Some gawked, not even ashamed to watch Ratonhnhaké:ton and Iliana get into a fight.

The Latina could see that all eyes were on her now, and she glared at them, still enraged. Exhaling a strained breath, she covered her face with her hands and slid them up and down, as if to rub away her stress. _Ay Dios, me metí en mi primera pelea_ **[2]**,she thought.

“Sorry,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mumbled, frowning.

The expression he bore was so puppy-eyed that Iliana couldn’t help but actually feel sorry for him. “Oh, my papí **[3]**…” Setting the rolling pin down on the counter, she came over to him and cupped his cheek. “It’s alright—I was too hard on you and I shouldn’t have expected so much.”

“Aww—”

“Shh—quiet, Terry, they’re about to kiss!” Lance O’Donnell interjected.

The men all huddled closer, eager to see the couple osculate each other.

Ratonhnhaké:ton didn’t notice how foolishly the chaps had scooted a table forward and bunched up together, completely unabashed to pry their eyes on what was about to happen. So carrying on, he susurrated, “Niá:wen, konwakeri.” He took her palm off his face and kissed it. He then reeled her in, snaking his arms around her.

The boys, some a bit tipsy from the alcoholic drinks they had, started sniggering until Lance shut them up.

“Ssshhhhhh! He can hear us, you know!” he hissed, his teeth bearing as he was getting irritated and impatient.

Simpering, Iliana said, “I’ll give you my cookies to make up for it.” She closed her eyes and puckered her lips as she leaned in for a kiss.

The blokes, on the other hand, had all too eager grins on their faces. Godfrey snickered again, only to be slapped on the back by Terry for it. “Shaddup, ya fool!” he whispered harshly. “Or ye’ll ruin it!”

Just as Iliana was about to come into contact with Ratonhnhaké:ton’s mouth, they were interrupted by Oliver’s unexpected entrance.

“Whew! Brewing beer can take a toll on ya if you don’t take a lunch break,” the innkeeper spoke as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He sniffed something in the air that smelled of burnt pastries, and he commented, “Something smells burning here.”

As the couple broke contact and turned their attention to Oliver, the blokes at the table gave out an audible groan of frustration and glared at him.

“What? What did I do?” Oliver questioned, completely baffled.

“They were about to kiss!” Terry blurted too fast for Lance to shut him up.

This just made the carpenter slap his palm over his forehead, annoyed and embarrassed that Terry couldn’t keep his mouth zipped. They saw that the assassin was glaring at them, so they immediately settled back into their seats and changed the subject.

“So, Norris, how is the weather today?” Lance prompted in haste.

“It is splendide, magnifique!” the Frechman responded.

“Yes—yes, marvelous weather today. What about you, Lance? What have you been up to?” Godfrey asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual… carpentry, making chairs…woody chairs…” Lance answered awkwardly.

“Well I say, this beer tastes great!”  Terry remarked.

It was so painfully obvious as to how the group was trying to conceal their espionage that Ratonhnhaké:ton solely glared at them.

The innkeeper raised his brows; his mouth, which was open in awe, contorted into a grin.  “Well, I hope you two lovebirds haven’t been dallying around while you were busy doing…” he trailed off, too amused to finish his sentence.

There was a very visible shade of red on the Mohawk man’s face now, and the stammered, “I—no, we have not—we were just—b-baking—”

“Ratonhnhaké:ton caused a bit of…trouble here in the kitchen, but I got it all taken care of,” Iliana interjected; she whirled around and mumbled to the gent, “Don’t worry. As for our…bussing, we can continue that later when we’re upstairs just by ourselves.”

“Hah, you’re trying to get him to bake now, eh? No wonder why s’mells like burnt food in here,” Oliver commented; he chortled, patting his belly then stating, “My, oh my, am I starving! So, what else do you have besides scorched pastries?”

“Corinne told me to make the lunch specials,” Iliana replied, tossing her head towards a counter that was lined with ingredients.

“Alright, I’ll have that then—” Oliver went to take a seat at a table next to the group of males. Leaning towards them, he raised a curious brow and inquired, “So, boys…what have you all been up to lately?”

They were all hesitant to answer, instead throwing side glances at each other.

The innkeeper guffawed; he was entertained at how nervous they were all acting.

Ratonhnhaké:ton couldn’t take it anymore; growling, he turned to face them and articulated, “Do not think I did not catch you peeping on me, _Godfrey_ , _Terry_ , _Norris_ and _Lance_.”

“Oh no, he’s caught us!” Godfrey muttered in a panicked way.

“He’s not goin’ to smash our heads together now, is he?” Terry muttered back, placing a hand to the side of his mouth so that the assassin wouldn’t hear him.

“Non non non, he’s coming our way…” Norris mumbled fearfully. He turned away, as if to signal that he had no part in this at all, and whistled.

Just as the angry Native was about to storm over and initiate on throwing the boys’ table at themselves, Lance interrupted him by saying, “You two were being a bit rude after all, causing a ruckus in a public place.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton halted his tracks, the snarl on his face disappearing as he was keen on what the burly man was going to say next.

Lance, deciding not to make a big deal out of the situation, simply shrugged and responded, “Not only were you bickering, but you were also _smooching_ , for that matter.”

Ratonhnahké:ton’s jaw dropped; closing it quickly, he squinted and muttered, “Fine, I shall take your word for it. But does that mean that you _had_ to watch me go through all of that?”

“Love is in the air, mon ami,” Norris mentioned, turning around in his seat to look at the Mohawk man for once. “We cannot deny that.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled his eyes hard. He was about to retort until he was slapped on the shoulder by Oliver. “No need to get all worked up over something so trivial. Besides, if you’re having a hard time here in the kitchen, why don’t you help me out at the back with the brewing?”

“I—” sighing, the Mohawk answered, “Alright then. I can do that.”

Oliver grinned. “That’s a good boy, now come sit here with me—” he sat back down and motioned for the fellow to have him sit at the empty chair next to him. “I don’t want to eat lunch alone.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton sat down, looking defeated. Meanwhile, at the table next to him, the chaps simply continued their business in chatting about mundane things, as if the most recent events never happened. Ratonhnhaké:ton merely folded his arms and grumbled, not at all too pleased in how his mates had been behaving lately.

He didn’t notice Iliana come up behind him, as he was preoccupied in his bitterness. Tapping his shoulder, she announced, “Here you go, papí. Something to brighten your day—” she held out a fancy box full of the cookies that she made.

Ratonhnhaké:ton turned his head around, staring at the box then at Iliana. “Thank you,” he mumbled, grabbing the box and setting it on the table.

The lady gleamed, patting him on the head before twirling around and going back to the kitchen.

“Now how sweet is that?” Oliver commented.

Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled wryly, opening the box and taking out a cookie to chew on. As he munched on his snack, he thought back to the time when Iliana settled at the homestead. Being a woman of nobility, she needn’t worry about menial things such as cooking. Realizing that she had to do things the commoner’s way without servants there to cater her, she had a difficult time with making her own meal. Nevertheless, she got better with it later on, thanks to the homestead women’s generosity in helping her get accommodated with frontier life. Still though, it wasn’t something that Ratonhnhaké:ton was too keen on participating in, as Iliana was still prone to making mistakes. He certainly wasn’t the best chef in the world, either. He was quite surprised to find out that she enjoyed the culinary arts very much in this universe to the point where it had become a pastime for her. He knew, however, that she loved needlework as it was something she inherited from her mother. “She wants me to help her finish her quilt next,” he said as he fiddled with the small pastry in his fingers.

“Ah, I see,” Oliver said, nodding his head. “Seems like she adores you, my boy.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton pressed his lips together, as if to subdue the smile on his face. “Yea…she is…what you call…‘a keeper’.”

Oliver beamed. “You are very lucky to have her.”

* * *

It only took Ratonhnhaké:ton one try at the needle before he quit. He found it even more complicated than culinary pursuits, apparently pricking his finger in the process. He grumbled, bandaging himself and requesting that he discontinue his cooperation with Iliana on this activity.

“That’s fine—I’m almost done, anyway,” she said with a chortle.

Ratonhnhaké:ton examined the quilt, spreading it out so that he could get a better view of its pattern. “What is on this thing, anyway?” He held it up sideways so as to show Iliana what he meant. “This quilt is quite strange…usually not one I would see the colonists make. It looks…tribal.”

Chucking, Iliana explained, “Well, these geometric patterns on some of the squares represent the cosmos that brings us all together. On these other patches—” she pointed to each one respectively—“Are symbols that represent animals, people, and objects such as the sun and wind.”

 Ratonhnhaké:ton scrutinized the patches. “I see,” he said, eyebrows knitting. “Is there any meaning behind all of this?”

“This fabric speaks of my Taíno heritage,” Iliana declared; she pointed to a bird pattern on one of the squares and mentioned, “This is Múcaro. He is an owl, but we call him ‘Night Eagle’. He is a good, spiritual symbol for the Taíno.”

“I see…interesting,” the Native man remarked, nodding his head. “What about this one here, though? It looks…like a manatee.”

Iliana sniggered. “That’s because it is one—although we pronounce it as ‘manatí’. She is the sacred sea cow, a ‘Big Woman of the Spirit Waters.”

“Hmm…I am assuming that is where the ‘manatee’ word came from.”

“That’s correct.”

“This one here though…also looks peculiar…it is a symbol of a person whose arms are S-shaped—like the direction of a storm.”

“Ah—yes, this here is Huracán, an evil god of chaos and disorder. He causes mayhem through stormy weather.”

“Oh. You mean a ‘hurricane’?”

“No—Huracán. He is one god that we Taíno could not please, so he brings terrible winds to the islands every autumn because of us.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton let go of the quilt with one hand as he scratched his head, completely baffled. “Mr. Faulkner told me that they were called ‘hurricanes’.”

Iliana gave him an equally baffled look and asked, “Who’s Mr. Faulkner?”

“He is—ah, never mind,” Ratonhnhaké:ton muttered. He was not in the mood to explain another long exposition to the woman when it was something she should know in the first place, had she not been under this amnesiac curse that King Washington put on everyone. Sighing, he replied, “It is not important to know. It is just…I thought it was a term that sailors used to describe those tropical storms.”

Iliana raised both of her brows in disbelief. “Well then…let me tell you, if you ever sail across the Caribbean and encounter a tempest then that is Huracán doing his job.”

“Hura…ca’n…” the Native man mumbled as he rubbed his chin.

“Yes, ‘Huracán’,” Iliana affirmed. “‘Hura’ means ‘wind’ and ‘Cán’ means ‘center’—literally ‘center of the wind’. Huracán’s malignant spirit is always present in the eye of the storm…it would be a bad omen if you get caught in it.”

The Mohawk man’s mouth was agape now as he scratched his temple. He was astounded by all this information he was hearing. He always wondered why seamen would dub sea storms with silly terms instead of simply calling them ‘tempests, ‘cyclones’ or so. But now he understood, thanks to the Native Caribbean woman in front of him. “Very interesting…I will keep that in mind the next time I sail to the Caribbean.”

“Next time?” Iliana questioned, confused.

“Oh—uh, I mean—” Ratonhnhaké:ton grumbled. Shaking his head, he put the quilt aside and snatched her hands, proclaiming, “I will take you to the Caribbean someday.”

Iliana stared at their hands then at Ratonhnahké:ton’s face. “Well now, since when did Mister Shy because Mister Suave, hmm?” she asked coquettishly as she showcased an amused look.

Not realizing what he was doing until now, the gentleman quickly released her palms and rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel heat invading his cheeks, and he darted his eyes away from Iliana’s.

The Islander couldn’t help but chuckle; scooting closer to Ratonhnhaké:ton, she cupped his face and murmured seductively, “You know, I have not been back to my islands for a long time now. I never saw the Caribbean again ever since I got shipped here by the slave trade. So I would not mind if someday, you and I can go on a tropical vacation—a romantic one, that is.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton stared wide-eyed then gulped. “W-well then…I…I…” His mind went blank for a second. He thereupon thought back to all those times he reminisced about the Puerto Rican during his…private moments. It was not all too long ago that he masturbated to that raunchy memory they had of fooling around the Captain’s quarters in the Aquila. Then there were also those times where he would dwell on these again whenever he’d bathe himself. He wanted to tell her all those times they went island hopping, going everywhere else _but_ Puerto Rico so as to avoid the wrath of her father ever since she ran away from that place. They would do this whenever a privateer contract was assigned for him to go to the Caribbean, often taking a break after missions by taking a whirlwind tour around the islands. His crewmen enjoyed it very much, as it was not all too often that they received shore leave. And during those times, he and Iliana would get into the most risqué situations he’d ever imagined. Ratonhnhaké:ton didn’t know it, but he was like his grandfather in more ways than one…not only did a lust for the sea ran in their family, but so did lust for women  1. Except that in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s case, he really only desired one woman, and that was Iliana. So in this moment, he wanted to tell her how much he pleasured himself to all those thoughts whenever he was bathing or simply alone in his bedroom. Yet he decided against it, for it was still a little too early to reveal all of his dirty secrets to her.

“Well?” Iliana prompted as she noticed the man hesitating.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was gawping mindlessly until he shook his head. _Damn it_ , he cursed in his mind; he was getting sexually frustrated once more but could not relieve himself right now thanks to the presence of the woman in front of him. He really wished that Iliana would just remember everything so that he could get it over with and hump her silly. He let out a puppyish whine as he yearned to be touched once more.

 “Aww, what’s wrong?” Iliana asked as she caressed his wolf hood.

The Native man shifted uncomfortably in his seat as an attempt to bat away all those lewd thoughts and get rid of the nagging in his loins. “Nothing—just…” He let out a stressed breath. Picking up the fallen quilt, he cunningly covered his loins with it and stared at it for a while before looking up at Iliana. “Ye—yea, I do not mind if we do something like that,” he sputtered, smiling sheepishly.

Iliana snickered, snatching the quilt from Ratonhnhaké:ton’s lap then pecking him on the cheek. “Good, because I am looking forward to it.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton rubbed the side of his neck in an attempt to relax. “Are you sure you do not need any more help with that quilt?” he asked out of the blue.

“Yea, I think I will be fine. All it just needs now are the finishing touches.”

“Alright, because I think, uhh…I should go take a bath before it gets too dark.”

Iliana raised an eyebrow, curious at the way he had been acting. Shrugging, she said, “Very well then. You have been with me long enough so you can go now. But come back later, alright? I want to relax by the fireplace with you again

“Sure, we can do  that,” Ratonhnhaké:ton spoke in a haste; rising from his seat in one swift motion, he muttered, “A-anyway, I-I should go—” he dashed towards the door, opening it quickly. He glanced back at Iliana and hollered, “I will see you later!”

“See you—”

The door was slammed shut before Iliana could even finish her sentence. She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s been a little over three weeks now since he started courting me and he’s still such a strange man…”

Meanwhile, on the outside, the Mohawk man ran to his room as fast as possible. Once he reached it, he opened the door, stepping in and then shutting it tight. He turned its lock so that no one would intrude and then leaned against the hard surface. He released what sounded like a mix of a grumble and a sigh, so aggravated that he had to deal with this nearly every day. For some reason, it started to get worse over time—as if there was something within him that wanted to take over and unleash all the animalistic desires he had been holding back.

Growling, he pushed himself away from the door and stormed over to his bed. He was not going to wait until he reached the lake just to get his release. Removing the sash that held his pantaloons up, he slid them down and plopped unto the bed, getting straight down to business as he angrily stroked his cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Based on what we know of Edward Kenway so far thanks not only to _Assassin’s Creed: Forsaken_ , but [this article as well](http://www.polygon.com/2013/5/3/4296282/assassins-creed-4-black-flag-story-of-sex-and-repentance-outlined). [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 2 “Oh my God, I got into my first fight” [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 3 Translates as 'daddy' in English. It is often used along with 'papa' to refer to one's father; however, it can also be used as a term of endearment for men. Thus in such contexts, it would come to mean as 'honey', 'babe', 'dearie', etc. [⇧ Return to paragraph]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Animus Database Protip:  
> Many words that we use in the English and Romance languages actually come from the [Taíno language](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ta%C3%ADno_language). For example, ‘manatee’ came from ‘manatí’, ‘hurricane’ from ‘huracán’, ‘hammock’ from ‘hamaca’, and so on. There are many others, such as barbeque, cassava, iguana, etc. that have become loan words in other languages.
> 
> Also, **cookies** came to the Americas in the early English settlement (the 17th century), although the name ‘koekje’ arrived with the Dutch. This became Anglicised to ‘cookie’ or cooky. Amongst the popular early American cookies were the macaroon, gingerbread cookies, and of course jumbles of various types.
> 
> The most common modern cookie, given its style by the creaming of butter and sugar, was not common until the 18th century.
> 
>  
> 
> _(These professional tips have been brought to you by Shaun Hastings)_
> 
> * * *
> 
> Miscellaneous author notes: Sorry folks, but I’m stopping here...I needed that cliffhanger ending to set up the next chapter.


	9. Faust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...9 chapters into this story and I think now is about time that we have our sexy wolf man exhibit a little more of his feral qualities, yeah?
> 
> That means there is going to be **smut** in this chapter.
> 
> And in case if anyone is wondering: no, this chapter is _very loosely_ based on Goethe’s Faust. It is slightly inspired by the part where Faust is tempted by Mephisto to consummate his relationship with Margaret.

The Mohawk warrior sighed, satisfied that he was able to get his release at last. There was a ridiculous yet smug smile on his face as he got up from bed and pulled his pantaloons back up.

He figured that now should be the time to go take a nice, cool dip in the lake. However, he decided to stop by Iliana’s room first to see if she was still there and perhaps chat for a bit. Seeing that she was not present, Ratonhnhaké:ton  simply shrugged  and went downstairs. He made his way to the tavern, expecting to see her there as usual. However, she was not there, either. Instead, Corinne served meals and drinks in her absence.

“Where is Iliana?” the Mohawk asked.

“Iliana? Oh, she went out to gather some berries in the forest,” Corinne answered as she took Ratonhnhaké:ton’s finished plates and utensils.

The Mohawk knitted his eyebrows. _Berries?_ _Why?_ He thought. “When did she leave?”

“Not too long ago—” the old maid strolled towards the kitchen basin and started washing the dishes—“Iliana said she wanted to make fruit pie, so she left to pick berries. If you want to catch up with her, she should be by the lake—she told me that was where she went to go berry-picking.”

Lake? But I was going to… Ratonhnhaké:ton mused, frowning. _On second thought, I could just put off washing for later. It would not hurt to see what Iliana is up to…_ “Alright. Thank you, ma’am—” Ratonhnhaké:ton quickly got up from his seat and dashed towards the exit—“I will be back later!”

“Take care, my dear! Don’t get yourself into any trouble!” Corinne hollered as she observed the chap leaving the area.

* * *

The power of the Eagle gave Ratonhnhaké:ton a freedom he’d never experienced before. Rather than travel by horse, he chose to travel by flight as it was certainly faster. The bird’s eye view also gave him an advantage when it came to spotting his target. Thus, he soared into the air, flying from tree branch to tree branch with such grace. He arrived at the frontier lake, where he had located his target. He landed onto a bough, one that was close to Iliana but still far enough that she wouldn’t be able to catch him. As he made himself comfortable, he observed her figure sauntering around and smirked when he spotted her wearing the daisy crown that he made for her. She looked like a saint, going about and wearing the flowery tiara atop the red shawl she often wrapped around her cranium.

The maiden strolled across the pastures until she came towards the edge of the lake. She set her empty basket down and wiped the sweat off her neck. She sighed as she was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to come across any blueberries. Apparently, it was still too early in the season to pick them as none of the flora bore any fruit. She had been out in the wilderness for several minutes now, and already the heat of the afternoon sun was starting to make her feel hot and sticky. She pursed her lips; she could use a nice, cool bath right now. Glancing at her environment, she began to take her clothes off once she made sure that no one was watching her.

Meanwhile, at the bough not too far from her, a certain Mohawk warrior was shocked to see her undress. He couldn’t do anything else but basically gawk. He watched her slowly remove her blouse, revealing her delicious, bare shoulders. He unexpectedly felt his pants tighten, causing him to groan in frustration.

“Wait, no…I should not be watching this,” he told himself.

Conversely, there was something within him—something primal, something so carnal—that was persuading him to do otherwise. He could not explain what it was; only that it urged him so greatly that he had no choice but to surrender.

Soon, his demeanor changed—he was more feral this time, more wanton as he ogled at Iliana’s half-naked body. Her back was turned towards him, but that didn’t stop him from panting. He panted even more as she took her skirt off, his tongue lazily sticking out. He barked in approval, unknowing that he was loud enough to be heard by the maiden.

She turned around straight away, aware that someone— _something_ was nearby. She searched her surroundings in panic—she could’ve sworn she heard a barking noise. Squinting, she scanned the area one last time until she was sure that there was no one here. She sighed in relief; she was glad there were no wolves around to attack her, so she could bathe in safety.

Little did she know, however, that there was one present, and he had come closer to her location in order to get a better view.

The skin-walker hid behind a tree, sticking his head out to peak at the damsel. As she removed her flower tiara and crimson shawl, Ratonhnhaké:ton circled in front of the tree so that he didn’t have to keep sticking his head out. Iliana wouldn’t be able to detect him from where he was at, so he relaxed himself and began to—

“Wait—what am I doing?” Ratonhnhaké:ton muttered, clutching this temples and panicking.

He shook his head vigorously, as if to get himself out of his trance. Yet that was useless against his struggle as his instinct called out to him once more. It spoke to him loudly in the language of the wolves, a language that he was able to understand:

“GO—YOU KNOW YOU WANT HER,” it roared.

“I cannot…I shall not…” Ratonhnhaké:ton uttered weakly, tightening his hold on his temples. He entered another hallucinatory episode, except this time, it was not the voice of his mother he was hearing.

“WHY NOT? IN YOUR IMAGINATIONS, YOU SURRENDERED TO HER,” it growled.

The skin-walker gazed up and was shaken to see that there was a wolf in front of him. It didn’t look like the other wolves he previously encountered on his sky journey, though. This one appeared bigger, more beastly and rugged. Its fur was as black as the night, and its eyes were a glowing shade of carmine.

“I…I do not understand what you mean,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mumbled, completely mystified.

“SEVERAL TIMES YOU HAVE FANTASIZED. YOU DESIRE HER,” the beast bellowed.

“But it is too early—”

The beast roared once again, charging into Ratonhnhaké:ton until it merged with his soul. He gave out an agonizing cry, falling to the ground as his episode ended.

Iliana stood up in one swift motion from her spot at the lake, startled by the noises she heard. She peered around, pressing her lips together. This was the second time she heard something, yet she did not see anyone or anything else present. She furrowed her brows, suspicious. Wading towards the lakeside, she gathered her things in her hands and moved to a less conspicuous area.

As the skin-walker recovered from his hallucination, he noticed that his object of desire was no more present near his location. Snarling, he transformed into an eagle and flew from treetop to treetop until he was able to find her. Impatient, he climbed down the tree as quickly as possible and got himself situated on the edge of the cliff where he could easily spy on the maiden.

Iliana grabbed a fresh bar of soap from her pile of stuff on the ground and waded back to the cliff side. As she washed herself, she let her mind wander, thinking back to how she found her suitor’s chest quite attractive. She wanted to feel his hard pecs again and trace her fingers down his chiseled abs. She imagined his strong arms wrapping around her, feeling the small of her back, roaming up her spine, caressing her soft mounds of flesh…

Confident that no one was watching, she soaped her breasts then began fondling them, moaning as she teased her nipples.

Meanwhile, above her, the skin-walker took his pantaloons off in no time and got straight down to business. Already was his cock half-erect from his recent arousal; he wrapped his palm around it and started stroking.

Iliana grazed the bar of soap down her stomach, lathering the smooth skin. She moved further south, soaping up her nether regions. Feeling that she was thoroughly cleansed, she placed the bar onto a nearby rock then initiated splashing herself.

Ratonhnaké:ton leered; it had been a long time since he last saw her naked, so to see to her literally in the flesh was quite refreshing—and definitely arousing. He studied her form, how her breasts were just the right size for her body. He smacked his lips as his gaze trailed down her smooth, flat stomach. Her hourglass figure was pleasing to his eyes; her shapely legs even more so. Overall, she seemed statuesque, just standing there and washing herself.

Ratonhnaké:ton’s eyes flared when he witnessed Iliana slipping her fingers into her intimate folds. The smirk on his face broadened to a wolfish grin, and he matched his pace with hers.

Iliana shivered, sensing a spot deep inside her that triggered her to become immediately wet. As her walls became lubricated, she slipped her digits out and coated her folds with her juices. She imagined Ratonhnaké:ton’s callous fingers touching her, circling that pink pearl, brushing another delicate area underneath it , gliding two digits into her entrance…

She inhaled a sharp breath when she hit another sensitive spot inside her. Curling her digits, she worked the shallow, front part of her wall, hips bucking when she experienced a spike in pleasure. She bit her bottom lip and whimpered as she started out slow, teasing that swollen, spongy flesh. Without warning, lewd reminisces of the time she caught Ratonhnhaké:ton masturbating entered her mind, causing her to immediately stop and gasp. Did she dare even think of such things? She never pondered about the gentleman’s phallus until now…

Above her, Ratonhnhaké:ton saw that she halted all of her activities. He furrowed his brows, eyes intently watching her as he waited to see what else she would do. Regardless, he still continued to stroke himself, although slower this time.

A blush appeared on Iliana’s face as she envisioned how the Mohawk warrior’s weapon would look like. She pictured it being long, thick, and hard, ready to impale her at any moment. She simpered, checking her environment one last time to make sure that no one was around to catch her in the act. Smirking and licking her lips, she eagerly pushed the engorged, rough spot on her anterior wall, panting from the pleasure she experienced. It intensified as she commenced working furiously on that area, closing her eyes and imagining that it was her warrior’s weapon that was pounding her with such ferocity.

Ratonhnhaké:ton saw how there was a flush forming on Iliana’s features, how she heaved as she worked her way towards climax. It made him feel as though he were on fire. Growling, he set his cadence to be in accordance with the woman’s. He visualized that he was right there with her, kissing her neck and nibbling her ear as he thrust himself faster and harder into her engorged womanhood. He reveled in everything she had to offer, nibbling her soft ear, biting her supple skin, sucking her tender nipples, kissing her plump lips…

Her cries became louder, indicating that she was close to climaxing. Ratonhnhaké:ton groaned, sensing himself coming soon with her. He glided his palm over his swollen knob-end as he cupped his nuts, grunting, heaving…tasting the forbidden fruit, nearing ever so close to that sweet ecstasy…

Iliana was so into the act that she didn’t notice herself stopping all of a sudden, as if her warrior was currently teasing her. She whined; she could practically hear him chuckling and purring into her ear, _“Let me hear you beg for it.”_

“Please,” she begged, biting her lower lip.

_“Louder! Let me hear you say it—with my name.”_

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, please!”

The skin-walker froze, shocked at what he just heard. _Did—did she just call out to me!?_ He thought, baffled. He gawked at her, noticing the pleading look on her exquisite face. Suddenly, he became irritated and snarled. _Damn it, I should be down there! I should be the one pleasuring her!_

He stood up in haste and impatiently put his pants back together. Uninhibited by reason, he activated eagle flight once again, swooping down to the lake then transitioning into his wolf powers. A mischievous idea came to him out of the blue: smirking, he invisibly crept towards the maiden.

Unaware that there was someone behind her, Iliana simply carried on with her fantasies. She visualized Ratonhnhaké:ton smiling smugly, osculating her then flipping her around so that he was in the rear.

“I heard you, konwakeri,” the real Mohawk warrior from behind whispered into her ear. “I will finish what you started.”

Not being able to tell apart fantasy from reality, Iliana moaned in approval, unknowing that the invisible man took her fingers out of her entrance and replaced them with his. She hitched a breath, feeling him work with such swift precision as if he had done this before. She bit her lower lip to prevent a whimper from escaping as the sensations became intense. Still ignorant that Ratonhnhaké:ton was fondling her from behind, she swore she could literally feel his digits pumping into her while his free hand squeezed her breast. His mouth nibbled her ear and softly bit on her neck, triggering her to wail in ecstasy. She squirmed, reaching from behind to grasp her love’s neck. She was still oblivious that he was actually there, as her eyes had been closed the entire time. This was getting so good that she could care less as to how this was all even possible, so she let herself get lost in the decadence.

Ratonhnhaké:ton sensed his powers draining, so he deactivated his stealth mode and simply proceeded with his groping, not giving a damn if Iliana detected him later on. He was so driven by lust that he had to hear her— _feel_ her come until she couldn’t take it anymore.

Iliana felt the man press his aching member against her backside. She gasped, surprised to see how aroused he was, making her even more aroused in turn. As she neared the edge once again, Ratonhnhaké:ton thrust his digits so hard that it pushed her over, instigating her to scream as her muscles convulsed. She clung onto his strong arms as if it were her life and nearly buckled, but he was able to hold onto her and finish her off.

Iliana limped, knocked out by her climax. She couldn’t think at all; her mind was drawing blanks and the only thing she could see was blackness. She hadn’t had a powerful orgasm for such a long time that she was in awe of how she was able to make herself come like that. She was still unmoving, solely letting Ratonhnhaké:ton leave sweet kisses down the side of her neck. He removed his fingers from her moist inside, licking her essence off and delighting in its taste.

“I miss this,” he whispered, gently biting her earlobe.

Iliana couldn’t do much except moan, for she was too exhausted to do anything else. _Wow, when did my imagination get so—_ her eyes fluttered open, baffled that she was no longer in control of her fantasies. Looking down, she gasped when she saw that what she had been imagining was in fact, quite real.

She freed herself from Ratonhnhaké:ton’s grasp, spinning around to gawk at him.

He didn’t say anything as he simply licked the remainders of the woman’s fluids off his fingers. He leered, smug that he was able to please her at last.

Iliana rubbed her eyes, still in doubt that what she was seeing and what she felt all along was real. “¡Dios mío! **[1]**” she exclaimed, placing her hand over her heart and freaking out. “But—how!?”

Wanting to be sly, the skin-walker answered, “You screamed my name, so I granted your wish.”

Iliana just glared at him. “¡Imposible!” she spat. Just then, she noticed that she was still buck naked, so she flew her hands over her exposed parts in a pathetic attempt to cover them.

Ratonhnhaké:ton smirked, amused that she was trying to shield herself. “Resistance is futile,” he stated, taking a step closer to her. “Besides, I have seen you naked before.”

Her eyes widened when she felt Ratonhnhaké:ton’s hard bulge poke her stomach. She didn’t know whether to feel offended or flattered that he was still aroused by her. “W-what—when?” she questioned, mouth agape.

“Remember, I have known you from a previous life,” he purred, snaking his arms around her and grazing his callous palms up and down her back. “You look beautiful now, as you did back then.”

Iliana looked into his eyes, noticing how there was something there that wasn’t exactly _him_ , but she couldn’t discern just what it was. She gasped as she sensed him humping her ever so slightly, and she looked down to see that his pantaloons made a tent. She snarled, having an urge all of a sudden to hurl insults in Spanish at the bloke and strangle him. Pushing him away and shielding herself again, she spat, “ “¡Tú! ¡¿Cómo te atreves?!, no puedes ir por ahí y como por arte de magia complacer a las mujeres así nada más! ¡¿Cómo... cómo te atreves?! Ay Dios... esto es una locura..."

Ratonhnhaké:ton almost laughed, suppressing it as he saw that the damsel was getting angrier by the minute. He loved it when she would get fiery like this, and it turned him on even more. He showcased a sly smirk and commented, “I am afraid that I do not understand what you just spoke.”

Iliana rolled her eyes hard then articulated, “I said, ‘You—how dare you! You can't just go around and—and—magically please women like that! Just—how—how _dare_ you! Oh my God...this is insane...’”

The skin-walker didn’t know whether he wanted to cackle or shake his head and sigh. Grumbling, he figured that he might as well tell her the truth—or at least part of it. She need not know about his powers just yet… “I was going to take a bath, you know—that is, until I found you…in this situation…” He spread his arms out, as if to indicate to her that he was mentioning her bare form.

“You mean, you were _spying_ on me!?” Iliana shrieked, frantic.

Ratonhnhaké:ton hesitated to answer. “No, I was not,” he lied yet kept a serious face. “I was shocked to stumble upon you in this situation. Then I was confused when I heard you scream my name. So—so I thought…” he rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to be awkward. Ironically, he usually would be, but the way that his primal instincts took over had him act otherwise. “I thought you were actually calling me.”

Iliana’s jaw dropped; she covered it with both hands, not knowing exactly how to feel. She was angry, shaken, and embarrassed all at the same time—angry that Ratonhnhaké:ton came across her while she was bathing, shaken that he encountered her pleasuring herself, and embarrassed that of all the things he had to discover, it had to be about her masturbating exactly to the fantasy of him. She was hyperventilating, fanning herself in an attempt to relax. “Señor, ten misericordia de mí!” **[2]**she uttered.

Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled his eyes then strode towards her. “Iliana,” he spoke, snatching her waist and pinning her wrists above her so that she doesn’t push him away again. “The only woman I want to please is you. If you did not enjoy what I offered, then tell me.”

The Latina gawked, surprised by his statement. She would have felt flattered had it not been for the way had been behaving lately. She stared at her wrists, attempting to free them. It was no use though, for Ratonhnhaké:ton’s grip was too strong. She looked back at his face and almost let out a whimper. The way her nude body was vulnerable like this to him, along with the way he was seizing her, turned her on so much that she couldn’t restrict the whimper in her throat any longer. _¡Maldita sea! 3_ she thought; she hated how much he was making her so sexually frustrated.

The skin-walker sniffed, detecting her tell-tale scent of arousal. Leering, he purred, “I can tell that quite like this.”

Iliana squeezed her eyes shut then whined, “Ratonhnhaké:ton, please! Stop…you…” she struggled to free her wrists again but to no avail. “Stop making me so frustrated…”

“If you need to be relieved again then I can always lend you a hand,” he suggested, eyes half-closed as he became more lascivious.

Iliana’s expression twisted into one of agony. “I—I enjoyed what you did to me, okay!? Now please, please…” she sobbed. “Please do, I need it.”

Smirking, Ratonhnhaké:ton dragged her towards the lakeside and threw her onto the ground. She yelped as she hit the sandy surface and inhaled a sharp breath when the man shoved two digits inside her. He wasted no time in finding her sweet spot and attacking it, working ferociously to bring to her climax again. She cried in bliss, experiencing another spike of that oh so wonderful sensation. He bit one of her nipples and pinched the other with his fingers, making her wail. She circled her arms around him as it was all too much to handle, yet she reveled in how skilled he was in gratifying her. A flush appeared on her soft skin and all over her lovely features as her breathing became shallow. In a flash, she peaked, screaming as her muscles clenched. Her hips jerked violently, and she wrapped her legs around her beloved as she rode the waves.

Liquid spurted from her womanhood, instigating Ratonhnhaké:ton to growl in gratification. He was so determined to finger her until she was completely spent. With one last push, she screamed again, drowning her in the waves of pleasure, knocking her out one last time.

A few minutes had passed until Iliana was able to regain consciousness. Moaning, she rubbed her eyes and blinked, seeing Ratonhnhaké:ton hover above her. He eyed her with such satisfaction that he took his digits into his mouth and lapped them again. It tormented her, and he simply flaunted a wolfish grin.

 _¡Dios mío! I’ll melt if he keeps on doing this,_ Iliana thought as she gawped. “How…how did you get so good at this?” she mumbled.

He nuzzled her neck and murmured, “As I have said, I have seen you naked countless of times. We were lovers, you and I, and I memorized every single place on your body that was delightful to touch.” He kissed the crook of her neck and pushed his aching loins onto her, leaving her neck to lock eyes with her. “You look so lovely with this blush all over you.”

Iliana blinked stupidly, flattered by his compliment. She showcased a coy smile in response. “You are trying to make me melt, aren’t you?” she said coquettishly. She saw how his smug expression contorted into one that spoke of yearning. “Well then…” she crooned, eyes lighting up with desire. “If what you know about my body is true, then let me see you naked…”

The skin-walker flashed another wolfish grin. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he could hear his inner beast howling, as if it were about to claim victory. However, at that moment, Ratonhnhaké:ton strangled it and was able to regain composure. Everything came crashing down on him as his reasoning returned. Blinking several times, he stared at Iliana, bewildered at everything.  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “No…” he voiced, standing up and stepping away from her; he clutched the sides of his skull. “This—this is all wrong—I cannot…”

Iliana frowned as she became concerned at what was happening to her love. “But—but it is only fair if I see the rest of you since you’ve already seen me nude,” she proclaimed, confused as to what was going on. She got off the ground and walked towards him, placing a hand on his arm.

“ _No_ —” he swatted Iliana’s hand away and seized her shoulders. He growled, “All of this—everything—it is not right! It is all too soon…”

The lady’s features softened as she bore pity for his suffering. Taking his hands off her shoulders and gathering them in hers, she murmured, “Nanichi…look at you, trying to restrain yourself. You were always the gentleman…” she cupped Ratonhnhaké:ton’s cheek and susurrated, “I understand what you’re trying to say. We don’t have to go that far. But let me—‘help’ you, as you have done the same to me.”

There was anguish on the Mohawk’s face as he gazed at his beloved. “No, I can take care of it myself—”

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” Iliana articulated, expression serious. “Please…just this once.”

Sighing in defeat, the skin-walker just nodded his head.

Iliana beamed, kissing his lips to calm his nerves while her hands fumbled with the sash that kept his pantaloons together. They slid down his legs and pooled around his ankles. Fearing that his inner wolf would come roaring back, he nervously embraced his woman.

She broke the kiss, glancing at him before taking his wolf hood off.

“W-what are you doing?” Ratonhnhaké:ton sputtered.

“Taking this off—” she held the hood in one palm and combed his hair with the other—“I don’t see you often without your hood on.”

He felt as if part of him had been stripped away now that his hood was off. The low grumble from his beast within became muted as he went back to being more like himself.

Iliana continued to lock eyes with him, smiling as she studied his features. “I think you look beautiful, too,” she mumbled, leaning in to steal another kiss.

Ratonhnhaké:ton roamed his palms all over her back, more relaxed this time as he eased himself into the kiss. He gently bit her lower lip, taking it into his mouth and suckling on it. Iliana encircled an arm around him, tightening her grip as she commenced stroking his weapon with her free hand.

The Mohawk warrior shivered at her touch; it had been long— _so_ long—since he last experienced the sweet caresses of her dainty palms. He had to interrupt and step back, grabbing the wolf pelt out of her hold and excusing himself for a minute. He strode towards the site of Iliana’s stuff and put down his wolf pelt along with the rest of his items next to them.He was fully nude now; as he turned around and started sauntering back to the woman’s location, she couldn’t help but place a hand over her growing smile.

“What?” Ratonhnhaké:ton blurted, striding closer to her.

Iliana helplessly snickered, eyes lighting up at what beheld her. “I was right. You are well-endowed down there, just like how I pictured it,” she stated, simpering.

There was a smug smile on the Mohawk warrior’s face. Enclosing his arms around her, he purred, “Did I make your dreams come true, then?”

Iliana laughed. “I never made a wish, so this is certainly a godsend.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton smirked but then whined as the aching in his loins increased. He’d been holding it back the moment he swooped down and crept unto Iliana, so he really needed his release.

The woman laughed for a second time. “Here, let me help with that—” she enveloped her digits around his stem, uncertain of where to begin. She slowly moved them up and down, staring back at her love to see if she was doing well.

He nodded in approval. “The underside—it feels good there—t-the tip as well,” he stammered.

 “Alright then” Iliana followed his advice, giving special attention to his bell-end. She eyed him to see how he would react and smirked when he moaned. She left a trail of kisses across his chest as she sped up her tempo.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had been restraining so much that the pleasure he was receiving from his woman’s handling of his tool was too much to bear. Nevertheless, he urged her to go faster, and she complied. His breathing became shallow as he was dangerously close to peaking. He secured his embrace on Iliana, for he knew that it was only a matter of seconds until he came.

Just then, his muscles contracted, and he snatched Iliana’s mouth into his, muffling his screams of bliss. She moaned from the unexpected osculation, eagerly returning the favor while she continued to rub him. This just intensified his orgasm, and he dug his nails into her back and growled as she pumped him until she was sure that all the seed was completely expelled from his unit. He almost collapsed onto her, and she had to bear a bit of his weight although he was able to recuperate and hold himself. He squeezed her tight and kissed her hungrily, satisfied that he was able to get his release. Letting go of her lips, he gazed at her with half-lidded eyes, his palms combing through her long, damp, sandy tresses.

“How did I do?” Iliana prompted, “a deep blush tainting her damp cheeks”

“Wonderful,” he murmured; he took her hand and started guiding her towards a location in the lake where they can sit down and rest their backs against the rocks. He situated Iliana in front of him, her back facing him as he reclined onto a smooth rock surface. He rested his chin on top of her crown and let his palms roam all over her moist, silky skin. She smiled, although she pursed her lips as concerns invaded her thoughts.

“If this is how our past life was like, then I wish I could remember,” she susurrated; her eyes were getting watery and her mouth dared to twist into a frown. She blinked then splashed her eyes with the lake water so that the tears would go away.

“I wish for the same,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mumbled, lifting her wrist up and pressing his lips onto it.

“Nanichi…” she uttered, so floored by his love for her.

“What does that word mean?” he asked.

Iliana turned her head around to look at him. “It means ‘my love’ in Taíno.”

He stared at her, trying to compute what she just said. She hardly ever used Taíno words in their previous life, for much of her mother’s culture was lost and assimilated into Spanish society. So to hear her speak them now was a curious sight. “Norónhkhwa—that is the Kanien’kéha word for it,” he responded. He cupped her chin and kissed her briefly, shifting her position by having her sit sideways. He gathered her thighs in one arm and cradled her neck in the other so that he could get a better angle. Then, easing his tongue between her lips, he deepened the kiss.

The woman circled her arms around Ratonhnhaké:ton’s shoulders and neck, slipping her tongue into his mouth. She teased his, wrestling it while she caressed his velvety skin. He just felt so much that he helplessly snatched her right breast in his palm and fondled it. He wanted to let her know just how much he loved her, how the woman he always fantasized about was her and not one but her. He playfully tugged her lips before releasing it. With a smirk, he purred, “Norónhkhwa, since when did you start daydreaming about me in…that way?”

The damsel blinked rapidly then simpered. “I only started today,” she answered, grabbing a lock of her hair and twirling it in her fingers. She pressed it between her lips in a poor attempt to cover her coy smile. A few giggles escaped her lips, and she batted her eyelashes.

Leering, Ratonhnhaké:ton pecked her forehead and susurrated,  “You know, I was going to bathe alone in the lake…but I think having you here made my routine better.”

 Iliana chuckled and coyly hid her mouth behind her palm. “Well, let me tell you, I thought of you when you were away—” she sat more upright now then cradled the Mohawk’s face in her palm, her visage changing to a solemn one. She whispered, “I missed you, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

“I missed you, too, Iliana,” Ratonhnhaké:ton mumbled, expression softening. “You were always on my mind when I was away.”

The damsel beamed; then, smashing her lips against his, she became lost in the sea of passion once more.

An ample of time had passed since the couple initiated their petting session. They were out of the lake now and helped put each other’s clothes back on. As Iliana was tying her shawl around her shoulders, Ratonhnhaké:ton placed the daisy tiara on her cranium, making her smile.

 “You look lovely with the crown I made you,” Ratonhnhaké:ton stated.

The smile on Iliana’s face broadened to a grin. “Oh you—” she grasped one of the man’s wolf pelt ears and tugged it playfully—“You are such a sweetheart. I was going to make blueberry pie had there been any blueberries ready for harvest, but there haven’t. So tonight, I’ll make you apple pie in return.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton beamed in approval then picked up her basket. “Pie sounds nice,” he remarked. “I always liked your cooking.”

Iliana covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh stop it, you,” she said; she pecked him on the lips and grinned. Soon however, she exhibited concern. “Will you be returning to Boston?”

“No, not for a few days,” he replied, taking her hand in his free one as they commenced strolling. “I…” he hesitated on telling her about his phantasms for fear that she would grow even more anxious. “I just need some time to myself. I cannot put it off going after Washington for too long, although I must also plan carefully and not rush things.”

Iliana simply nodded. “Will you be able to tell me the rest of your story tonight, then?”

“What story?”

“You know, the one about us—the summer of seventeen-seventy-nine.”

“Oh—of course!”

 

 

Smiling, Iliana led him to where she kept her horse. He helped her get onto it then got himself situated behind her. As he circled his arms around her to grip the horse’s reins, she beamed, loving the feeling of being this close to him once more. Then, Ratonhnhaké:ton pulled on the reins, trigging the horse to gallop. Soon enough, they were off to Mile’s End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 ‘My God!’ in Spanish [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
> 2 ‘Lord, have mercy on me!’ in Spanish [⇧ Return to paragraph]
> 
> * * *
> 
> Animus Database Entry: European colonists did not bathe all too often back then for several reasons—one was the belief that doing so was an immoral act that lead to lust. On the other hand, the indigenous Americans believed that bathing kept them not only clean, but brought healing purposes as well. Thus, when the first wave of Europeans arrived in the Americas, they branded the indigenous Americans as 'heathens' for washing freely in the lakes and rivers. Later on, the colonists' belief changed to the ridiculous notion that the natural oils on their body protected them from the diseases that run rampant in the 18th century. Thus, they resorted to simple 'cat baths', where they wiped themselves with a wet washcloth, thinking that was enough to keep them clean for the day. Third, it was expensive and time consuming to prepare a nice, warm bath back in those days, and only the wealthy could afford to take a full bath daily. And even if the wealthy could afford, they only reserved the baths as a way to relax from either the extreme humidity or extreme cold.
> 
> You wouldn't believe me if I said that the stench that Connor had to deal with whilst running around the streets of Boston and New York was intense. It wasn't until Commander Washington did the Continental Army cleaned its hygiene up a bit (he recommended that they all go take a swim because the smell and filth was becoming too much to bear).
> 
> _(These professional tips have been brought to you by Shaun Hastings)_
> 
> * * *
> 
> If anyone is wondering about Ratonhnhaké:ton and Iliana's hygiene practices...let's just say that their Native mothers taught them some good habits, aha.
> 
> Anyway, I have been updating this fan fiction on a weekly basis. I'm going to take a break after this chapter though, since there are other projects I'd like to work on. That means updates will come slower than usual but I'm not going to abandon this fic.
> 
> I have some other Connor/reader fics that I'd like to upload...some smut, some aren't and are more tragedy. I would appreciate it if you can read them as well and leave some feedback. I'll be uploading them sometime later this week.
> 
> But anyway, I would like to thank all of those that have been loyal to all of my weekly updates; I wouldn't have gotten this far without you!


	10. The Case of the Missing Governor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Ratonhnhaké:ton resumes his retelling of the events from [chapter 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/799078/chapters/1612189)—how he met Iliana, and how the rest of his assassination contract went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I describe fight scenes in this chapter is based on my own personal interpretation of how they worked for me in the game. I say this because writing fight scenes is not my strongest point, so I am just going by what I know. I have my own personal canons on the way that Connor fights based on how I was able to control his movements in game (and mind you, I play on the PC and don’t have a PC controller so I am stuck having to use annoying keyboard controls). This also includes all the dumbest ways that the opponents would leave themselves open to attack along with how well I am able to go through a restricted area without getting detected too much…
> 
>  
> 
> _Also, this chapter **has not been beta read** , so there might be some sentence errors here and there, and my Spanish might not be all that great. If anyone here is willing to help me revise this chapter, please let me know by commenting in the review section. Thank you!_

The couple were by themselves again inside the tavern. It had become a habit for them to stay up late every night after business hours, and the fireplace eventually became their usual spot to lounge in front of. Iliana playfully fed her man with the apple pie she made, and giggled when she saw his cheek stained with some crumbs. Coy, she licked them off then pecked his mouth.

“You taste like apples,” she commented, snickering.

Ratonhnhaké:ton pouted and cross his arms. Scooting closer to her, he cupped her cheek and purred, “I think you taste better.”

Dumbfounded, it took Iliana a minute to understand what he meant. She gaped, not knowing what to say at first until she flashed him a coquettish look. “You better make sure not to spoil yourself, Ratonhnhaké:ton, or else you won’t be getting anymore bath time with me,” she replied, smirking.

The smile on the gentleman’s face broadened to a grin, and he kissed her, his tongue pleading for entrance. Iliana let him inside, tasting the apple on his tongue. He squirmed, circling his arms around her and tightening his embrace. He returned her action, taking her tongue in his mouth and suckling it. She roamed her palms all over his smooth back and across his shoulders, loving the feeling of how broad and masculine they were.

Ratonhnhaké:ton let go of her mouth, but not without leaving a teasing tug on her bottom lip. He gathered her head onto his chest and raked his palms through her silky hair, inhaling the scent it emitted. “Norónhkhwa…” he mumbled.

Iliana looked up at him, smiling. “You are nanichi, too.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled wryly upon hearing her say that word again, yet left a quick peck on her forehead. He was curious to know how she came to speak parts of an indigenous language that was thought to be long gone along with its people. “Iliana, I have my own questions to ask you,” he stated, releasing her and making himself comfortable on the carpet. “Never in the time have I known you—the way I remember, at least—did I ever hear you speak Taíno. Since when did you start speaking this language?”

Iliana raised a brow and smirked, mirroring his position on the carpet. “Well, I have grown up with my people, but only for a short amount of time. I never knew who my father was, although I assume that I was an illegitimate child of a Spanish man and a Taíno woman. My mother lived in poverty, and I was taken away from her at a young age. I never saw her since…I don’t know what happened to her. I’m not sure if she still serves her masters down there at the Caribbean or has been shipped off to elsewhere like I have. I was aboard a ship with other Taíno children—plenty of Africans as well. We weren’t treated very well on that ship…the conditions were awful…I was blessed to have even survived.”

There was a lump in her throat and she closed her eyes, not wanting to cry. “I wasn’t kidding when I told you that I had never known true freedom until now. Oliver and Corinne bought me out of slavery, and I am eternally grateful for their unconditional love. They’ve treated me as if I was the daughter they never had.”

Saddened, Ratonhnhaké:ton grabbed her hand and kissed it. Iliana smiled, feeling comforted, and scooted closer to him. He snaked his arm around her and caressed her back.

“This was not the life you were meant to live,” he proclaimed as he raked his fingers through her long hair. “I met your step-mother and never got to meet your real one. You have told me about her, though.”

“I have?” Iliana blurted. “Why do I have a step-mother? What happened to my real one?”

Reluctant, Ratonhnhaké:ton answered, “She died of smallpox, although she lived long enough to see your quinceañera **[1]**.”

“I had a quinceañera!?” she exclaimed, surprised.

“Well, in your case, you told me it was called ‘Festival de Debutantes’ since you belonged to the upper class.”

Iliana stared into space, overwhelmed from what she was hearing. “I always wanted a quinceañera…” she mumbled, tears daring to spill from her eyes. “I never got one because Oliver and Corinne couldn’t afford it.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton snuggled against the lady and pecked her forehead. “When this is all over, when the spell is broken, then you shall see for yourself. There is a portrait of you in your home in Puerto Rico—it depicted you in your quinceañera dress. Your parents commissioned to have an artist paint it.”

Iliana gazed at him with doleful eyes. Forcing a smile, she changed the subject by saying, “That reminds me—you still have to tell me what happened to General Gálvez and the rest of my chicas.”

“Oh—right, of course,” Ratonhnhaké:ton stuttered, beaming stupidly. He rose, reseating himself in a cross-legged position while Iliana remained reclining. “Now where did I last left off?”

“You stopped at the part where you were about to go rescue Gálvez and eliminate the Templar who kidnapped him,” Iliana mentioned. “And then there was me, my cousin and my two friends. I want to know what happened to the rest of us.”

“Oh,” Ratonhnhaké:ton said. “Yes, so this is what happened next…”

* * *

The assassin made his way towards the end of the corridor. He had looked through each and every room so far, yet no sign of the Templar nor General in any of them.

“Dead end,” he muttered. Frustrated, he sighed and leaned against a marble bust display while he took this time to rethink his plans.

Without warning, the display moved to the side, triggering Connor to almost fall over. He quickly regained composure and was alarmed to see that the marble bust he was leaning on earlier revealed a secret passage. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, the assassin cautiously entered the passage.

Meanwhile, back at the dining room, Iliana and her amigos were busy blending in and distracting the guests.

“Lieutenant Armstrong, I must wonder why you and your comrades are not present at tonight’s most important military ball?” Iliana questioned coquettishly as she played with her food. “I hear that it is being thrown by the famous Silva family…I wonder what for…”

The officer smirked. “You see, the Silvas, they are…cowards, I should say…throwing a lavish party in the middle of a war to calm their frantic nerves. It is all a futile attempt to let the people know that everything is fine. Of course, nothing is fine, what with the Spanish declaring war against Great Britain. Isn’t that the reason why there is a ball going on? To keep the citizens calm and pretend that everything is fine when it isn’t?”

Iliana quirked an eyebrow, slightly irritated at the way this bloke was slandering her family name, yet she kept her cool. “So I see the same is going for you,” she nearly retorted, but maintained her tone to its flirtatious level. “I do not understand what is it with officers lately being nonchalant about such things, instead throwing parties in their homes.”

“Well, my lady, I am not throwing a party tonight but simply a cozy dinner meeting between me and my comrades,” Armstrong stated, grinning smugly. “It is to commemorate our most recent victory.”

“And what would that be…?”

“I’m afraid that I cannot tell you the details for they are highly classified.”

“Hmph,” Iliana muttered; she was about to spit out more statements about the British but decided against it. She didn’t want to give too much away, so instead she queried, “But sir, aren’t you British? Wouldn’t all of this cause unfortunate implications for you and for the rest of the British expats here on this island?”

The Lieutenant stabbed a piece of meat with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. He swallowed it before responding, “Oh yes, of course we deal with issues like that. But as long as Puerto Rico doesn’t meddle with the war, then we’ll be fine.”

Iliana gave him a quizzical look; she almost felt tempted to spurt, ‘¡Menuda gilipollez! **[2]**’ but bit her tongue as doing so would give away her identity. She knew that the bloke was a bluffing big time, though she had to try her best to not go on a fit. If anything, she wished Connor would hurry up so that these British Templar agents weren’t able to hatch some inside job in Puerto Rico. Her mind was getting hysterical now as she ruminated on all the possibilities that might happen—a British uprising against the Spaniards living on the island, a naval invasion straight from Britain itself, raids caused by English smugglers, etc.

“Are you alright, m’lady?” Armstrong asked, worry washing over him. “You are clenching your chest as if you’ve just eaten some really bad oysters.”

The noblewoman glanced at him then down her chest, dumbfounded to discover that he was right. “Oh—” she took her palm off her bosom and sat more properly. “Y-yes, I-I seemed to have experienced a burning sensation in my chest—but not worries—it’s passed away.”

“Be careful what you eat, alright? Sheesh, sometimes you forget that you have allergies,” Nilda interjected in an attempt to save her cousin; she could tell that Iliana was bluffing as well and didn’t want their cover to be blown.

 _I do not have allergies!_ Iliana wanted to shout, but one look at Nilda’s visage and she knew that she was just trying to save face. Chuckling, she stated, “Don’t mind me, sir, I’ll be fine. I just have to remember to avoid certain foods.”

Armstrong shook his head and shrugged. “If you say so, ma’am. I just hope that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, indeed I am! In fact, my girls and I are planning to dance for the rest of you in a minute.”

“That’s good to hear. What shall you be dancing for us tonight?”

“Just some Spanish folk dance—it’d be a bore if I went over all the details for you, so just sit back and relax—” she stood up from her chair and motioned her dance partners to follow her. Rising from their seats, they went over to where Iliana took center stage.

All eyes were on them now as they anticipated on what was to come. Iliana took her place with Nilda while the twins took their places with each other. The musician that the Templar agents hired scurried over and initiated plucking some strings on his guitar. He played a couple of notes until he came to a part of the composition that signaled the ladies to start dancing. They twirled around, the hems of their dresses following their movements as they spun out and back in again.

They did this for a while, exchanging partners and shifting their footwork. It was enough to keep the guests entertained to the point where they had four lucky men join in to become their dance partners. Iliana smirked; she knew that this was just the beginning. By the end of the night, they would have distracted all these poor fools to the point where they didn’t even notice that they’d been poisoned.

Back on the second floor, Connor had entered a surprisingly ordinary part of the house. He had to walk down another lengthy corridor before he could get anywhere else. _What is with this place?_ He thought as he turned a corner and went down a long staircase. Despite this hallway being moderately lit, it still freaked him out. He could’ve sworn that one of the paintings he passed by was glaring at him, and he had to do a double take to see if its eyes were moving. He rubbed the sides of his arms, fearful of what he may encounter. He usually wasn’t the one to be this scared, but after having gone through the Mad Doctor’s Castle just to get a piece of Captain Kidd’s treasure map in Jamaica, he’d hate to have to go through another haunted mansion.

 _“Why must all my visits to the Caribbean have to end up in some abandoned, eerie place?”_ He complained.

He was even starting to believe all those ghost tales that Mr. Faulkner and the rest of his crew would tell him during stormy nights at sea. They would solely tell them on stormy nights, for the thunder and lightning added to the spookiness of their stories and made them even more realistic.

The Captain released a shaky breath; “I could always just stab these evil spirits,” he told himself in an attempt to calm his nerves. “Or…people…perhaps…” He sighed again and frowned. “No—I am an assassin—I should not be afraid! What has gotten into me…?” Shaking his head, he muttered, “I really should avoid going to the ship’s mess hall on stormy nights so that I do not have to hear all of those ghost stories.”

He reached the end of the staircase where a door occupied the site. Putting his hand on the knob, he tried to open it but to no give. He grumbled and went about to picking its lock. He heard one click, then another, and yet another until he was able to easily slide in the tool that inhibited the lock mechanics. He worked on damaging them diligently, and in no time, he was able to enter.

He found himself inside another passage, this one being vastly dark in contrast to the outside; it made him wish that he had a lantern with him. It was like going through the underground tunnels in Boston and New York again, except not as long winded although still creepy.

He arrived at one last door and found it just as bothersome to open as the others. “Why?” he whined upon noticing that he had to solve a puzzle just to get the portal to open. This one involved having to align all the cogs that were tacked onto it, so he commenced solving it.

Just like the lock, it took him a couple of tries, confused at first as to which ways the cogs should turn. When he was able to figure out the pattern, he turned the wheels that operated the cogs. They moved in the direction of their correct placement, and emitted a clicking noise that triggered the door to swing wide open.

Pressing his lips together, the assassin crossed the threshold with much apprehension. The room was pitch-black, and he couldn’t see a thing at all. He really wished he had a lantern with him right now, as he did not like the feeling of this.

“My, what a surprise! What do we have here? A privateer?” someone voiced.

Connor spun around, stunned to see that someone had crept behind him. “You—” he shielded his eyes as the person swung his lantern in front of him. He saw from the light that the person he encountered was his target. “Lieutenant McDougall!” he growled.

“Why yes, of course. I am indeed the Lieutenant of this house,” McDougall responded slyly, smirking. “Now tell me, what brings you here? You are not supposed to be in here, unless you are asking for trouble…”

“Bernardo de Gálvez, where is he!?” Connor yelled, skipping the pleasantries by yanking the officer from his collar.

“Oh, you mean that Louisiana governor? That wretched Spanish general who _stole_ my army’s highly classified information?” McDougall sneered. “If you want him, I can show where he is—but only if ou put me down.”

Connor raised a brow; he was suspicious of the Lieutenant’s motives, yet threw him down and ordered, “Show me.”

“Give me the letter first,” McDougall demanded, unamused as he straightened himself.

Connor just glared; he was getting annoyed of this scumbag’s antics. “Only if I know for sure that Gálvez is safe.”

The Lieutenant only hesitated for a bit, his expression now bearing a madman’s grin. He answered, “Fine then, I will show you…”

Out of the shadows, a group of Templars ambushed Connor. They seized him by the arms and kneed him so that he didn’t retaliate. The blow hit Connor in the stomach, causing him to hunch and wheeze. Lieutenant McDougal put his lantern down and stepped closer to the assassin.

“I’m warning you, sailor, if you don’t give me the letter, then I will take not only your life but that of the Governor’s. So hand it over!” McDougall threatened.

Connor reluctantly looked up at the Lieutenant, face scowling and roaring,, “Let go of me then, so that I can give it to you!”

“Pah! That trick will not work on me. Gentlemen, search his pockets!”

The lackeys aggressively jammed their hands into every pocket on the Captain’s long coat until they came across a folded envelope. “We found it, sir!” one of them yelled.

“Good—” McDougall snatched the envelope out of their hands and tore it open, examining its contents. “Ahah, yes…yessss…this is it…exactly what I am looking for…” jeering at the assassin, he hollered, “Comrades, we are done here! You can…do as you please with that savage.”

Just as the Lieutenant exited the room, his cronies kneed Connor in the stomach again and punched him in the face until he fell to the ground. His world was spinning, and he couldn’t concentrate at all.

Suddenly, one of the henchmen put their musket to the assassin’s face and sneered, “Make a move, and I’ll shoot.”

When they saw that Connor was hardly moving, they yanked him from the floor and put his arms behind his back, keeping a firm grip on them. The rifleman stepped closer until he was face-to-face with the assassin. “Well, whaddya waitin’ for? The dirty mongrel can’t fight?” he spat, bits of his saliva landing onto Connor’s face.

The enemies behind Connor cackled, reveling in his misery. Snarling, Connor head-butted the marksman in front of him then stomped on the foot of the lackeys behind him. He readied his hidden blades and slashed their flesh, instigating them to scream in agony.

Seeing how this left them in a vulnerable position, the assassin switched weapons and pulled out his dagger, slashing the weak henchmen to the point where he was able to chain all of his moves. He was able to take two of them down until an oncoming blow from behind struck him. This made him disoriented again, thus losing his combo streak.

Connor was even angrier than before, and growling, he took out his rope dart in a flash. He lassoed it around the one that punched him, swiftly reeling him in and slashing his neck with the dagger once he saw how helpless his enemy was on the ground. Connor did the same for the remaining opponents, for he was thoroughly enraged now. No one could stop him once he was on berserk mode, and he reeled in even the strongest of his opponents, slicing them with the blade of his weapon.

The rope dart was always his favorite whenever he was stuck in tight situations like these; it helped him to take out enemy hordes in no time. There was no escaping the wrath of the rope dart—Connor would have to thank Shao Jun’s spirit one day for blessing him with such a handy weapon.

There was one henchman remaining; it was the rude marksman from earlier. Connor saw how he stood back to ready his rifle, which was quite a stupid idea since that left him a weak spot for the assassin to exploit. Deciding he’d had enough of the pleasantries, Connor chose to end it once and for all by throwing a poison dart at him.

The rifleman gasped as he felt a sting to his side, the venom spreading throughout his system in seconds. He hunched over, his grip on the rifle weakening as the effects became too intense to bear. There was an audible _clank_ sound as the gun fell to the floor. The lackey swayed around, disoriented from the poison. He made a gurgling noise before he took his last breath, then landed onto the ground with a thud.

The assassin walked over to the henchman and checked his pulse to see if he was knocked out. Once Connor was sure that he was completely dead, he searched all of the redcoat’s pockets and began looting. _This is what they get for hurling insults at me,_ he thought bitterly.

It had become a habit for him to loot the dead bodies of his enemies after he’d get into a fight—it was something he picked up from his fellow crewmen, being the privateers that they were. They saw no shame in it, which made Connor appalled at first. But once the harshness of reality set in, the assassin had to loot, especially in circumstances where he was low on money to afford supplies.

Perhaps coming to the Caribbean once again wasn’t such a bad idea after all. When this whole mission was over with, Connor would definitely have to make negotiations with merchants here so that he could get more trade routes open for the homestead. This would surely bring them the income he badly needed.

 _I guess…it also would not hurt to establish a stronger bond with the Caribbean Assassins here_ , Connor mused; although each Colonial branch of the Americas worked separately from one another, they were always ready to lend a helping hand to their fellow brothers whenever they were needed.

When Connor was certain there was no more items to loot for, he stood up and began searching his environment. “This place looks like another dead end,” he thought out loud, frowning.

Out of the blue, he recalled his mentor telling him, _“Beware of dead ends. Sometimes they are not always what you see…”_

Connor knitted his brows as he heavily concentrated on what to do. Then, it hit him—activating his Eagle Vision, he scanned his surroundings one more time until he came across a glowing outline of an entrance on the far side of the room.

“I knew it—another secret passage,” Connor remarked.

Deactivating his Eagle Vision, Connor paced over to where the fallen lantern was and picked it up. He moved towards the hidden entry on the wall, searching with the light to see if there was any sort of knob or switch anywhere.

“Hmm…” Connor mumbled; he turned his Eagle Vision on again and noticed that there was another outline on the wall—a brick that glowed white, indicating that he must push it so that the passage would open for him. Switching his Eagle Vision off, he did so, initiating that section of the wall to slide left and reveal to him a secret cellar.

Unlike the rest of the outside, this room was wide and decently illuminated. In the center of it all, Connor could make out the silhouette of a man strapped to his chair. He was blindfolded and gagged, making muffled noises that sounded like panic. He struggled to free himself but to no avail.

Shocked, Connor put down his lantern and immediately went over to the captive. He undid the blindfold and gag around his face.

When the hostage was free from them, he let out a sigh of relief and said, “Oh, thank God! Someone has come to rescue me!” He strained his neck around to see just who was untying him, but it was no use. “May I know who my savior is?”

“An assassin,” Connor stated nonchalantly, removing the knots that bound the hostage together.

“An assass—” the man quirked his brows then interrogated, “Who sent you here?”

“Colonel Emilio de Silva did,” Connor responded.

“Emilio!?” once the ropes were completely let loose, the captive rose from his seat and twirled around. “What is your name, señor?”

“Connor Kenway,” the assassin stated, taking his hat off and bowing a little. “But just call me ‘Captain Connor’—uhm, personal reasons.”

“Capitán? Alright then—” he grabbed Connor’s hand and shook it hard—“You probably know who I am—Bernardo de Gálvez y Madrid, general of the Spanish army and governor of Louisiana. Such an honor to meet you, Capitán Connor.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Connor mumbled awkwardly as Bernardo released his hold on him. “As you know, the secret correspondence is kept safe in Colonel Silva’s hands.”

“Good, good,” Bernardo uttered as he dusted his long coat and straightened it. “What about Lieutenant McDougall? Is he dead yet?”

The Captain rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to answer. “Uhm…no…he…he is still around. I was ambushed by his henchmen before I could even get to you.”

“Curses! Blast that wretched Templar—I can’t even believe I was held hostage by someone who ranks lower than me,” the Governor spat, aggravated. “Well then, if that excuse of a lieutenant is still on the loose, then we must locate him and take him down!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve had a chance to study my enemies’ movements before I was taken to this hell hole. That bastard McDougall won’t be appearing in the dining hall until much later,” Gálvez ruminated, palm rubbing his chin. “Did you bring any other comrades with you?”

“Well…I have a group of ladies with me,” Connor answered as he scratched the back of his head.

“What, why!? That would just make our escape more difficult!” Gálvez exclaimed, incredulous.

“Well sir, they are not just any ordinary women. They are an allied faction to the Assassin Order.”

“Really now? Which one?”

“Uhm…I am not sure what you citizens of this island call it…I do not think that ‘courtesans’ or ‘Romani’ are the right word…”

Gálvez patted his belly and guffawed. “I think I know what you’re talking about, m’boy. Ah yes, the Animadores…that is what we call it.”

“Animadores?” Connor questioned, puzzled.

“Sí—‘entertainers’, if you will—I hear that they take their cues from both the cortesanas and Gitano. If that is the case, then I trust that the maidens you hired are able to provide a distraction long enough for us to escape without too much causality.”

“Indeed. Do you know where Lieutenant McDougall is hiding, then?”

“Hmm…well, since he took your fake letter, he should be in his cabinet—perhaps going over the unknowingly fraudulent plans by himself. I bet you he’s writing a correspondence right now to our enemy, General Campbell, saying that he has received the letter and will be sending it to him.”

“I see. Do you know where the cabinet room is, sir?”

“Unfortunately, no. This house is big and I haven’t had the time to survey it since McDougall dragged me straight to this dreary wine cellar.”

The assassin sighed. “There are a lot of sentries patrolling the rooms and corridors tonight. It is going to take a lot of fighting just to get to the Lieutenant’s location.”

“Well, that’s what you’re here for, right?” Gálvez mentioned, smirking. “Covert operation is an assassin’s forte, is it not? Well then, if you’re good at what you do, then we should be able to search and destroy McDougall without causing too much of a scene.”

Connor smiled wryly; not having yet reached the expertise of a Master Assassin, there were times where he wasn’t able to come out of a mission undetected. He really didn’t like taking on missions where there were several enemies guarding a restricted area, as those were the hardest for him. There were times where he mentally cursed to himself in his native language, ‘ _ah, to hell with this_ ’—giving up on the covert operation and opting to just slice and dice his opponents openly, as if he were a vanguard charging in to take down his enemies instead of an infiltrator eliminating them behind the scenes. He noticed that this tended to usually happen whenever he had to liberate a fort, and trying to navigate through an enemy’s mansion was like trying to do the same thing. He had to admit that there were times where he faltered in his confidence as an assassin, and now was one of those times since this was his first attempt ever at relying on an allied faction for help. What made it worse was that the head of the entertainment faction gave him a personal request to ‘keep her girls safe’, so now he was being held accountable for his party’s health.

To add to his stress and anxiety, he had the _Colonel’s daughte_ r in his group for that matter—Emilio hired him to perform what should had been a simple task, but to know that he had Emilio’s very own daughter with him right now was giving him more headache than assistance. Connor fumbled with his hands nervously; if he returned Iliana to Emilio scathed, then heavens knows what kind of scolding and punishment he would get.

He wondered, _Does Emilio even know that his daughter is with me tonight? Oh dear, she should be at the military ball right now. If her father finds out that she snuck out tonight, then…_ he gulped as his thoughts became more frantic. _She is not even in her ball gown! Oh dear, I hope that Emilio does not get the wrong impression that I…that I am f-fooling around—_

“Are you alright, señor?” the Governor prompted, worry washing over his face. “You look tense.”

Blinking several times, Connor snapped out of his thoughts and answered in haste, “Y-yes, I am fine—just…I worry about having damsels with me.”

“In distress?”

“No—I mean—well, the ladies told me that they knew what they were doing…” Connor sighed before continuing, “I guess I am just not used to the way that the Caribbean Brotherhood conducts its business.”

The Governor chortled. “You’ll get used to it, m’boy. Just spend some more time around the Caribbean—the Brotherhood here is more than welcome to help you out anytime.”

* * *

Iliana snickered, eyeing Ratonhnhaké:ton with an amused look.

“What?” he blurted, annoyed that he was being cut short.

“So charming to see how you worry and hope that I’m alright,” she remarked, displaying an equally amused grin. “In your story, I mean.”

There was a blush on the gentleman’s cheeks as he became timid at her remark. “Whatever,” he huffed, forcedly rolling his eyes so as to hide his bashfulness.

Iliana simply chuckled. “No need to be so shy, Ratonhnhaké:ton,” she cooed. Scooting closer towards him, she pecked his warm cheek and simpered. “Especially after that…confidence…you showcased to me in the lake.”

Ratonhnahké:ton gaped; there was a mixture of emotions that flashed across his face, from sheepishness to licentiousness. He leered but had no comment about her statement, instead carrying on with his story. “General Gálvez and I went out from the wine cellar all the way to the Great Hall after that scene. What happened next was…”

* * *

“Oh no! These men have been poisoned!” Nilda screamed in an exaggerated manner; she kneeled beside one of the men whom was curled up in agony on the floor.

The sentry right outside the dining room heard her cry. Alarmed, they entered the room and interrogated, “What’s going on here, miss?”

“Something rotten was found within the food they ate,” Iliana lied as she went over to the victims writhing in pain. She knelt down next to Nilda and commented, “This is awful.”

The remaining guards continued to investigate the crime scene, not even noticing that the governor and the assassin were right next to the dining room entrance.

“Looks like they have this part taken care of,” Gálvez noted as he eavesdropped on the ladies and watchmen. “We don’t need to worry about them—it seems they know what they’re doing. What we do need to worry about is finding where that bastard of a lieutenant is hiding.”

Connor nodded in agreement. He was relieved to know that when he and Gálvez entered the great hall, there were little guards present compared to last time. This would make their mission a bit easier, so they carried on with going to the second floor and finding the cabinet room.

There were more sentries on this level than on the first, but Connor was able to dispatch them easily before they could create a commotion. They scurried through several more winded corridors until they finally arrived at their destination.

“Alright—he should be in here,” Gálvez announced. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Connor stated.

Gálvez nudged the door knob until a block prevented him from turning any further. “Curses!” he hissed; he tried kicking the door but to no use.

“I can unlock it for you, sir,” Connor mentioned.

Gálvez raised a brow, mouth uttering a silent ‘Oh?’ as he stood idly and observed the assassin lock pick the door.

He was able to get the lock open in no time. Standing up in one swift motion, he budged the door wide open and charged into the room.

Inside sat the Lieutenant of the mansion, appearing stunned and infuriated. “Wha—”

“Hold your tongue, McDougall,” Gálvez sneered as he unsheathed his sword and took a giant step forward. He pointed it towards the Lieutenant, the tip barely touching his skin.

“If you are here for the letter, you should know that I have hid it in a place where you can never find it,” McDougall jeered.

“Hah! Insolent fool! We are not here for the letter, we are here for _you_ ,” Gálvez spat.

Just as the Templar was about to retaliate, Connor snuck up on him and stabbed his neck from behind. He made a sort of suffocating noise as blood dripped from his jugular. Vital signs failing, he collapsed face forward onto the table, crimson liquid staining the smooth surface.

“Well, that went quite well,” Gálvez remarked as he put his sword away. “Easier than I thought—however, he was a fool to think that the letter he has now is of any use.”

“Indeed, the real one is with us,” Connor noted.

“You did a good job m’boy, as expected from an assassin. However, McDougall’s lackeys would be searching for us soon now that we have eliminated him. We must leave this place now, for security is on higher alert than ever.”

“W-wait—but—what about the women!?”

“The women?”

“You know, Nilda, Iliana…”

“Ah, them—you might be surprised to know that I have worked with them before. You have nothing to worry about, m’boy. I know how they operate—they would’ve escaped the building by this time and be waiting for us on the outskirts.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “But sir, are you—”

“Oh you! Come, I’ll show you once we get out of here,” the governor interrupted in haste as he yanked Connor’s arm and pulled him towards the corridor.

* * *

Just a block away from the Templar manor was Iliana’s group, where they waited in an inconspicuous area for their two allies to arrive.

Connor came rushing towards Iliana, subconsciously hugging her and breathing, “Iliana! Thank goodness you are safe!”

She felt him encircle his arms around her, and she simpered at how he came to care about her in a short amount of time. “I did not know that you were this worried—you are squeezing me tight, you know,” she mentioned in a highly amused manner.

Connor’s eyes widened at the sudden realization and immediately let go of her. It was not characteristic of him to be this affectionate; usually, he wouldn’t even touch someone unless he trusted them enough to do so. He sighed and rubbed the back of his head as embarrassment overcame him. “I…well…”

The Latina smirked and reached her hand to cup his face; surprisingly, Connor did not flinch. “Did you think of me while you were on your mission?”

“I—I was concerned that—that—that—”

“That my chicas and I were not able to escape in time?”

Connor sighed and resorted to nodding, still too timid to answer vocally.

“See? What did I tell you? They were able to make it out alive—they’re professionals at this,” Gálvez interjected as he came up to them. “I have worked with them on more than one occasion, and each time they had accompanied me, they never ceased to disappoint. I’ll say, they are the best that the entertainment district has to offer.”

“Muchas gracias, señor,” Iliana responded with a smile. “Your compliment is very much appreciated.”

Overhearing their conversation, Nilda added, “Of course—we only strive for the best, after all. Anyway, I have called a coach while you were all busy chatting. It should be here in just a minute.”

“These streets are still on high alert—I have been surveying the blocked areas and the city guards seem to be even more restless than ever,” Trinidad commented. “We need to keep General Gálvez out of street view until daybreak—half of these watchmen could be Templars for all we know.”

“Good idea,” her twin uttered. “Although I have been wondering—should we make a stop at your place, or will you be joining the party along with us for the rest of the night, general?”

“I have been missing out on tonight’s events due to my captivity,” the governor responded; chuckling, he remarked, “Might as well make a grand entrance, yes?”

* * *

On the way towards the entrance to the Silva mansion ballroom, Connor and company were halted by a very stern Emilio. This made the assassin immediately shaken, for he feared that what was to come for him was an earful from the Colonel about sneaking out of the ball with his daughter without permission. The silence in the air was thickening, making even the rest of the group uncomfortable.

Deciding that he might as well be the first to break the silence, Connor uttered, “Uh, sir, if you are wondering about your daughter’s absence, I can explain—”

“Explain?” Emilio interrogated. “What is there to explain? I know how everything happened.”

“Y-you do?” Connor stammered.

Sighing, Emilio answered, “Don’t make a fool out of me, señor.” Turning to face his daughter now, he voiced, “As for you, Iliana, bien hecho **[3]**.”

“Gracias, papá,” the damsel replied, beaming.

“Huh?” the assassin blurted; there was a look of disbelief on his face as he asked, “You—you are not angry at me?”

“What is there to be angry at?” the Colonel questioned, shoulders shrugging. “I asked Iliana and her cousin in private to accompany you before you headed out.”

“R-really?”

“Of course! I figured that you wouldn’t able to successfully finish this mission alone.”

The assassin sighed in relief. He thought for sure that he was going to get in trouble and be scolded for having Iliana and her cousin go along with him, despite being against it in the first place. He really didn’t like having to deal with insistent people, although he had to admit that the night went a lot smoother than he thought. Besides, the girls really were skilled at performing these missions.

“And you too—Nilda, Teresa and Trinidad. Thank you for lending your hand,” Emilio stated as he shook the ladies’ hands.

“De nada **[4]**,” each of them articulated.

He led them all into the ballroom, where they were off into their own little world. Emilio spent this time conversing with the governor while the ladies mingled with the other guests. Thus, the assassin was once again all by himself—that is, until someone came up from behind and hissed, “Psst.”

Whirling around to see who it was, Connor nearly jumped when he saw that it was Iliana. “I thought you left with your friends not too long ago?” he questioned.

“Only for a moment,” the Latina replied. Placing a hand on her hip and cocking it to the side, she inquired, “Besides, I would just like to know…since my girls and I are still in our dancing outfits, would you care to join and watch our performance?”

“J-join?” Connor stammered. He wasn’t expecting this at all, for he was all set on leaving the minute he accomplished his mission. To have Iliana ask him to participate was making him a bit nervous yet thrilled to know that he was being invited. “W-well—o-of course—I-I would love to watch you dance.”

Grinning, Iliana took his hand and lead the way. “Come—you’ll love what I have to offer.”

* * *

It was half past midnight, although Iliana finished her dance long ago. There were only a few guests remaining in the Silva estate, with some scattered in the enormous back yard. The women that helped Connor with his mission returned to their respective homes; only Iliana remained.

She found herself at the edge of the yard, where it overlooked the ocean. The harbor–while miles away from the Silva estate—was still viewable by the naked eye, and Iliana could make out the outline of the Aquila.

“She really is a beautiful ship,” Iliana remarked, turning towards the man that stood beside her. “You must take me to see her up close someday.”

“Thank you,” Connor replied with a warm smile. “In fact, your father mentioned to me something about…ter-toolias?”

Iliana raised a brow at the captain’s peculiar pronunciation of the Spanish word, and chuckled. “ _Tertulias_? Oh yes—we host salons every now and then. I take it that he also told you about how I have fortepiano concerts for these gatherings?”

“Uhm, yes—he seemed eager to invite me,” Connor managed to spit out as he wrung his fingers. There was a splash of red that was spreading across his cheeks, as such an idea made him timid.

Iliana couldn’t help but grin. “I would appreciate it if you can come to support me,” she stated. For a minute, her eyes wandered in a way that told Connor there was something bugging her, yet she tried to cover this uncertainty with her genteel façade. “How long will you be here for?”

 “Well, originally I was going to leave once the mission was resolved, but—” Connor paused, his mien nearly mirroring that of Iliana’s before changing to a blank one. “Ever since I sat down to discuss matters with your dance instructor, I would like to set up trade routes from my homestead to your island. So I will be here for a few more days.”

The uncertainty on Iliana’s face vanished. She genuinely showed intrigue, even though her mind was already spinning several, diabolical ideas for her to hatch. “That’s quite a strategic move, señor. This will certainly increase relations with the Caribbean and Colonial Brotherhood.”

The thought of seeing the Aquila dock into the harbor of San Juan more than once was highly appealing to the noblewoman, and Connor had yet to know what this meant to her. If Iliana could find a way to sneak aboard, she would be free from the restrictions and burdens that a certain member of her household put on her. “You have met my father now, but have you met my step-mother before?”

“Step…mother?” Connor asked, dumbfounded.

Despite sustaining the smile on her face, there was sadness in Iliana’s voice as she spoke, “My real mother is no longer here. As to why, that is a story for another day. But if you would have stayed for the rest of the night, you would’ve seen my stepmother stroll about. Her name is Telma, and she comes from House Ayala. I think—” she wanted to tell everything to Connor in that instant: how she wanted to run away, how she wanted to see more of the New World besides the Caribbean, how she wanted to do be part of something even bigger by helping the Assassins of the north, how she needed some soul-searching and so much more…yet all that was able slip from her tongue was a white lie. “She would be quite eager to have you as our guest as well, should you ever come to any of our salons and see me recite the fortepiano or dance another folk dance.”

Beaming, Connor responded, “I very much look forward to seeing you perform again, ma’am.”

* * *

“I had a step-mother?” Iliana queried, baffled.

“Yes, and from what you had told me, she was not a very nice lady,” Ratonhnhaké:ton answered.

“This is all so confusing…I know who my real mother is, at least here. Yet I never knew who my father was. But in your story, I knew my papá, but not my mamá…”

“Trust me, you will learn everything in its time. If you do not mind, I will jump ahead a bit in my retelling to get to an important part of how your journey to the North came to be…”

* * *

The Captain of the Aqulia and his crew were back in Puerto Rico for the umpteenth time, staying here for a little more than a week. They were successful in establishing new routes from the island to the homestead, and Connor was confident that contact with the Caribbean Brotherhood would help to rebuild the Brotherhood in the north as well.

There was a small celebration of the Louisiana governor’s return, and Emilio was more than generous to host another party for the occasion. Connor had been invited to salons before ever since House Silva offered him the chance, but what he didn’t know was that this would be his final invitation. The more he watched Iliana perform, the more he was falling for her. Yet it was something that he would not admit, not even to himself. His admiration for her grew tenfold, but he deemed to keep this a secret.

Even though diplomatic relations with the Caribbean had gone up for the Colonial Assassins, there was no guarantee that Connor would be able to visit Iliana often, let alone maintain such a long distance relationship. Resolving the Revolutionary War and finding Charles Lee were also his priorities, so luxuries like romance needed to take a back seat. And while he immensely enjoyed being a guest of House Silva again, he really needed to return to duty. Even Gálvez was beginning to feel the strains of war, and the day after the salon, he and Emilio were off to the battlefield.

Today was the last day that the Aquila’s crew would be in port, and most of it was spent restocking the ship. It was here that Ilianabegan hatching her plan.

“So you really are leaving?” she stated the obvious, for she had trouble forming the words she needed to admit.

Connor was in the midst of carrying a crate on board. As he walked up the ramp, he glanced back at Iliana before settling the crate at a safe place. He noticed how plain her attire was today compared to the previous times he met with her, noting that today didn’t really mark for a special occasion to dress up aside from the solemn parting of ways. However, he had yet to know that the inconspicuous clothing was all part of Iliana’s scheme to escape unnoticed. “Yes,” he answered, going down the ramp and strolling towards her. “I cannot stay here for long, and my presence here was longer than it should have been.”

“I see,” Iliana mumbled, folding her arms.

Behind her were her cousin and the twins that aided the gang several nights ago in the mission to save Gálvez. There were barrels and crates settled beside their feet, all packaged inconspicuously. Iliana had fooled her parents into thinking that the packages were to be presented to the Aqulia’s crew as gifts, for only she and her girls knew that they were her secret makeshift luggage.

“I cannot come?” Iliana questioned boldly, a little more than she would have liked.

“What?” Connor blurted; he was flabbergasted to hear such a question. He was confused and hoped that she was just joking.

“You heard me,” Iliana assured.

“I, well—no—”

“Once again, are you sure this is a good idea?” Nilda mumbled into her cousin’s ear.

“Of course! I know what I’m doing,” Iliana muttered, side-eyeing her. “Don’t question me again.”

The annoyance she had with her friends’ doubting of her choices was piling onto her impatience, instigating her to snatch Connor’s forearm and jolt him forward until there was barely any space between them. “Look, I am not going to play games here. I’m being serious about this,” Iliana spat. “You must let me go with you!”

Hesitantly, Connor answered, “I am sorry. Although I wish to have you aboard my crew, your father would not allow it.”

Angrily, Iliana let go of his arm and shouted, “I am not a child! My father doesn’t see how my abilities can be used elsewhere!”

“He is only worried for your safety—”

“Safety!? He is fine with letting me go with you on a dangerous mission around town, but not go sailing abroad!? I have been to Louisiana and all around the Caribbean, and not once—”

“We are at war, and—”

“¡Ay, puñeta! **[5] ** Connor—” Iliana was gritting her teeth at this point, and it took all her might to calm down. She sighed before continuing, “The only reason why my father won’t let me go anywhere is because of my step-mother! She has been influencing him and just wants to make my life miserable!”

Connor rubbed his temple; he didn’t know what to make of this, and this family feud was something he should not meddle with. He wasn’t even sure if he should take Iliana’s word for it, since Emilio told him otherwise…

 _I know what is on my daughter’s mind, and she has asked me if she can go on a voyage on your ship,_ Connor remembered Emilio telling him. _No doubt she would come to you soon and inquire about it. By all means, do not let her leave port! She does not have the proper training of an assassin—not even that of a lady pirate—to fend for herself!_

“ _Please_ ,” Iliana insisted. “This is…this is what my mother would have wanted.”

Snapped out of his reverie by the woman’s peculiar choice of words, Connor stared at her, blinking. He noticed how she referred to her real mother this time and not the Lady Telma that she ranted to him about a while back. That sparked a reminder of what Iliana told him the night before, about the tale of her biological mother and why Iliana so desperately wanted to set foot in the thirteen colonies.

This made the Captain’s decisions much more difficult, for he wasn’t sure if he should go with his head or what his heart was saying.

As if to compel him, Iliana bore her most beseeching look. This was enough to make Connor crumble under the pressure.

“Fine, but something worthwhile better come out of this, lest I risk losing your father’s trust,” he warned.

Like a beacon, Iliana’s face lit up. “Gracias, muchas gracias, Connor,” she murmured as she unwittingly squeezed him tight.

Connor was taken aback by this sudden gesture, but relented. “You are…most welcome, Iliana” he said, sighing. He was about to return the embrace until she quickly let go and urged her friends to pick up her things for her.

In no time, the noblewoman was on deck with the rest of the Aqulia crewmates.

Just as Iliana’s cousin and friends were waving her goodbye, a stagecoach approached at the docks. Out stepped a familiar woman, whom came rushing towards the girls. “Teresa! Trinidad! There you are! I have been looking all over the markets for you!” Úrsula bellowed; her face was a mixture of surprise, worry and anger.

The twins jumped at the sound of the voice, and said to each other, “Uh-oh. We are in trouble now!”

“Why are you here? What is going on here!?”  Úrsula demanded.

The sisters hesitated to tell the truth. Before either party could act any further, the sound of the Aquila’s ship bell and the anchor being hoisted up made loud noises throughout the harbor, interrupting them.

“Anchors aweigh, m’boys, anchors aweigh!” Faulkner shouted.

Wide-eyed, Úrsula screamed when she saw the ship leaving—especially since Iliana was there on the port side, waving goodbye as if it was nothing. “ _¡Ay dios mío!_ What are you doing there!? Get back here! Your padre is going to be furious when he finds out— _aargh!_ ”

“¡Adiós, amigos! And I’m sorry Úrsula, but I must do this! I hope you understand! I will explain to you someday!” Iliana yelled.

The matron stood there, mouth open and flabbergasted. Her hands were shaking to the point where her rage was about to spill over. Whirling around, she barked at her daughters for letting this happen. “I am taking away your daggers and dresses! No assignments for a week!”

There was a heavy burden on Connor’s shoulder as he took the wheel and slowly sailed away. He cocked his neck to get a better view of what was happening on the docks, and could see the two downtrodden sisters being ordered to go into the coach with their mother. Connor didn’t like to break promises, especially one that may potentially strain his newly established relations with the Caribbean Brotherhood. But the promise that Iliana had was bigger than her father’s, so Connor could only hope that Emilio would forgive him someday.

* * *

Iliana stared at the fireplace, speechless. Her plate of apple pie was nothing but crumbs now, although she was absent-mindedly stabbing the pieces with a fork as if she still had another bite to pick up. She didn’t know what to say—she was in awe, excited, appalled, and sad all at the same time.

“I feel awful for doing such a thing,” she susurrated. “Running away from my family and friends like that.”

“It was not easy—for the both of us,” Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, sighing. “From that day forward, we had to keep you in hiding, and had to be careful about setting foot in Puerto Rico ever again. You nearly jeopardized our new trade routes due to your actions.”

Iliana was silent for a moment, trying to digest what happened.

“Others often described you as the ‘fiery’ one, and rightfully so,” the man mused with a slight smile. “Your strong spirit was enough to even influence me…your reason for leaving the island had good intentions, but bear in mind that we have not yet returned to your family from where I left off.”

“What—why—how?”

“From what I remembered last, in my universe, I touched the cursed object that brought me here…everything changed when Washington became King.”

“I don’t understand any of this. It’s all still too confusing!”

“As I have said before, you will learn more as the time comes—rest assured, I will tell you more of the story another night.”

Iliana was disheartened; shaking her head, she began picking up their plates and utensils. “Do you know if I will ever recall any of this?” she questioned, standing up to put the dishes away in the kitchen.

“I really hope that you would,” Ratonhnhaké:ton answered, frowning; he got up and moved to where Iliana was. Snaking an arm around her waist, he uttered in her ear, “I have to leave for Boston again soon, so I must take the rest of the night to prepare. Will you be fine without me?”

 “I will—just don’t be away for too long. That’s an order,” Iliana said, smiling while she finished washing her hands clean.

Smirking, the Mohawk man pressed his lips to her cheek and let go of her waist. When she was completely done with her chores in the tavern, he guided her out and towards their rooms upstairs. As soon as they reached Iliana’s room, Ratonhnhaké:ton bade her goodnight. “I will see you in a few days.”

“Take care then, and don’t get into too much trouble,” Iliana warned; she kissed him one last time before going to bed.

“You as well,” Ratonhnhaké:ton murmured, observing her get situated in her bed. Then, he exited the room and quietly shut the door.

Iliana laid on her side; she was so tired that she didn’t even bother changing into a proper nightgown. Her mind was just full of too many things that it made her heart heavy. Eventually, she fell asleep, although she had yet to know that the skin-walker’s progress in this world were beginning to affect her sleeping world as well…

* * *

1 Also called _fiesta de quince años_ , _fiesta de quinceañera_ , _quince años_ or simply quince, is the celebration of a girl's 15 th birthday in parts of Latin America and elsewhere in communities of people from Latin America. This birthday is celebrated differently from any other as it marks the transition from childhood to young womanhood. [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
2 ‘What a load of bollocks!’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
3 ‘Well done.’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
4 ‘You’re welcome!’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]  
5 ‘Oh fuck, Connor!’ [⇧ Return to paragraph]

* * *

Animus Database Entry

Briefly mentioned here, the noble house that Iliana’s stepmother came from—House of Ayala—is a well-established house descending from the Basque region of Spain, and is considered to be one of the major aristocratic families of the Crown of Castile. They have established distinguished branches in the Philippines, Florida, and Cuba—Laureano de Torres y Ayala being one of them.

 

_**Animus Hack:**  Commissioned portrait of Iliana (not the one mentioned by Ratonhnhaké:ton)—date unknown  
_ (special thanks to my wonderful friend, [morie91](http://moriesartworks.tumblr.com/post/51136031612/a-little-fanart-i-did-for-haytham-senpais-fanfic) for making this!)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! It’s been over a year since I last updated this story, I know. I deeply apologize for not updating this in a very long time. I got married, real life got in the way, and I sort of lost interest in my story and in the AC series in general thanks to the way Ubisoft and the fan-base had been acting lately. There was even a point in my life where I wanted to delete this fic, or rewrite it completely. There have been times where I think that since my OC is getting fleshed out more, I feel like she deserves better than a smut fic that originally began as a somewhat parody of trashy, harlequin romance novels (honestly, I really felt like just deleting all mentions of sex altogether, but only if you guys are OK with that).
> 
> But then a wonderful woman (You may know her as [dahlia-bellona](http://dahlia-bellona.deviantart.com)) inspired me to finish where I left off. She’s the woman behind the _Paradox Rising_ fan fic as well as her OC role-playing blog, [Maya Hotu](http://bellatrixsicarius.tumblr.com).
> 
> [Speaking of which, I made an [RP blog for Iliana](http://caribbean-noble.tumblr.com) as well, so if you are interested in RPing with her, feel free to message me for a starter!]
> 
> At this point, I can’t guarantee that updates will come quickly. I might have to redo some parts to my story; ever since Black Flag came out, it messed up some of the head-canons I wrote for my fic—especially in regards to how the Caribbean Assassins operate. It seems like Ubisoft calls them this name officially instead of ‘Spanish Colonial Brotherhood’? Also, the way I wrote about how the ‘entertainment’ faction in Puerto Rico operates…hmm, I certainly hope that doesn’t contradict Black Flag canon—so I heard that Ubisoft has ‘dancers’ in Black Flag…I feel like they were secretly reading my fan fiction and took my ideas. Hey, I came up with the ‘Ayala’ surname for Iliana’s stepmother before Ubisoft released info about that Laureano character… ಠ_ಠ
> 
> I’ve only played a bit of Black Flag so far, so the things I wrote about Úrsula and her daughters, how they operate like the Romani in Revelations, etc. I think I am going to keep that as it is. If it doesn’t contradict Black Flag, that’s great. Also, in regards to Ah Tabai and how he fits into the founding of the Spanish Colonial/Caribbean Brotherhood, I am not sure if he’s still alive in Connor’s timeline, so I’m not going to mention him.
> 
> [By the way, I wish that Ubisoft included Puerto Rico as part of the islands that you can explore in Black Flag. But I read in an article that they excluded PR because it was too far away from the eastern islands. Ergh…I was so looking forward to see my visions come to life and actually explore the streets of San Juan as Edward…]
> 
> Also, I’d like to thank [gazizaty](http://gazizaty.tumblr.com) for helping me out on getting my plot points together into a good outline!
> 
> I mean just wow you guys—this is actually the first serious story I’ve done where I’ve managed to write more than 8 chapters! I find myself coming to care more about this story than ever, especially after the whole Connor-spoilery-Rogue-Unity debacle. This has given me the drive to continue forward and build up my own canon of how things for Connor went down, and I sincerely hope that my beloved readers will enjoy reading my canon as well. I have so much more in store for Ratonhnhaké:ton and Iliana, particularly Iliana—a lot more will be revealed about her in the upcoming chapters, and I hope you all will come to care about her as much as I do! If it weren’t for you guys and your wonderful suggestions, this story would’ve still been a weak Connor/reader fic with no direction. It’s only thanks to you folks that I’m able to finally get this down to a solid story, to the point of even challenging myself to create a decent OC.
> 
> With that said, I would really like to thank you all who have stuck with me for so long and continue to support my writing! I really appreciate all the feedback I get!


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